


Keith & Lance's Island Adventure

by eugyne (AreteNike)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Boats, Islands, M/M, Slow Burn, Vacation, actually platonic bed sharing, do you get the idea yet, rather less platonic bed sharing, relax. unwind. learn 2 love., the holts are rich af thats why theyre letting their kids run off with the boat lmao, the ocean, the settings are all real places but its from memory so i may have made stuff up a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreteNike/pseuds/eugyne
Summary: The Holt siblings invite their friends to a week-and-a-half-long graduation party aboard their family's boat, with one stipulation—Lance and Keith have to leave their rivalry ashore.





	Keith & Lance's Island Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> haha this was supposed to go up the 6th im only a LITTLE bit late in my timezone. ~~ill proofread in the morning, this shits hot off the press :v~~ proofREAD thanks
> 
> art by the fabulous jenni, you can find her post [here!](https://paladinspride.tumblr.com/post/169408073339/i-had-the-pleasure-of-drawing-for-maternalcubes) there may be more art incoming. stay tuned?

When Pidge invited Keith to a fully-funded graduation party aboard the Holt family boat (“the smaller one, anyway,” she’d said), this is not exactly what he'd pictured: three of them standing on a wobbly dock, packed bags at their feet, sky cloudy and gray, while the Holt siblings stand on a little ledge off the back of the boat and deny entry.

"Rules first," Pidge says. "One: Lance and Keith."

"Aye-aye, captain?" says Lance, and Keith elbows him. "Ow!"

" _I'm_ the captain," Matt interjects.

"Let me finish!" Pidge says. "You guys aren't allowed to fight. No bickering, no arguing, no dumb competitions, none of it. You're leaving your rivalry ashore. For our sanity."

"And your safety!" Matt adds. "This boat isn't _that_ big."

It's a good fifty feet long, but Keith grants that the living space is probably gonna be cramped for the five of them. Not that he's seen inside yet.

"The point is," says Pidge, "if you two don't agree to keep it civil for the whole week and a half of this trip, you're not coming aboard."

"I'm civil!" Lance yelps, and Keith sighs. Granted, their "friendly competitions" are _usually_ actually friendly, and they don't have as many serious disagreements as they used to. But Lance still takes every opportunity to stand against whatever Keith stands for, to challenge him to the most pointless of competitions—never mind that Keith usually accepts.

Either way, he's more than willing to not deal with any of that for a week and a half.

"I'll do it," he says, interrupting Lance's complaining.

Lance pouts as all eyes turn to him.

"You can always keep Hunk company," Pidge points out. "Tell him you suddenly realized you get seasick, too, he won't judge. Or, y'know, you can come with us. What's it gonna be?"

"Can you do it, Lance?" Matt teases. "Keep from heckling Keith for a whole ten days?"

"Of course I can." Lance puffs up, arms folded and pout deepening. "We're friends."

"You fight him at every opportunity," says Pidge.

"That's how I express my friendship."

Keith is tempted to say that's news to him, but in the spirit of civility, decides against it. Then Lance elbows him.

"Right, Keith?" he says.

On second thought, this may be more difficult than he anticipated.

* * *

The rules aboard _Ciao!_ are simple: take off your shoes, listen to the Holts, pay attention, use the railings, and don't be an idiot. Food is included; booze isn't.

And then, once they're all aboard, Matt says, "So. There are five of us and only three rooms."

Uh oh.

"The way I see it, there's really only one way this can go. Katie's the only one short enough to fit in the Cave, so that's her room."

"Goodie," she says flatly.

"The Cave?" Lance asks.

"I'll show you in a minute. Now, I'm the captain, so I get the stateroom."

"The master suite," Pidge clarifies.

"It's a boat so we don't call it that, _Katie._ Anyway, I figure making Keith and Lance room together is a recipe for disaster even _after_ the agreement, so it'll be Shiro and Keith in the other room, and Lance with me. Everyone cool with that?"

"Oh hell yes," says Lance. "We're gonna meme it up _so hard_."

"Hell yeah we are!" Matt lifts his hand for a high five that Lance reciprocates with enthusiasm, resulting in a high five that _sounds_ painful. Both then yelp and shake out their hands.

"I'm fine with it," says Shiro, ignoring their antics, and nudges Keith. "Keith?"

"Fine," he says. He'd rather have his own room, but, failing that, sharing with Shiro is the next best option. And it's only for a week and a half.

Matt claps his hands. "Great! Now that that's settled, it's time for the tour!"

Pidge pulls back the door and the curtain inside, and they all file in.

The boat's living area, Keith thinks, has to be at least 33% sofa. That's practically all that's on the left side of the room, close to the door; further in, there's a raised platform with a table and more sofa, like a booth at a restaurant. The right side of the room, on the other hand, is mostly cabinets—there's a visible stove and sink but no fridge or other appliances that he can see. The space leftover in the middle of the room is pretty narrow, and it leads into a short set of stairs down towards the front.

"Okay! Boat terminology," says Matt. "Starboard, port, bow, stern." He points right, left, forward, and back. "And the thing off the stern is the swim platform. Got it?"

"Is there gonna be a quiz?" Lance asks with a grin.

"Of course there's gonna be a quiz," Matt responds with a wink. Keith is beginning to wonder if he should hop off now and just save himself the trouble.

"Anyway," says Pidge pointedly. "This is the kitchen—"

"Galley."

"—and the fridge is down here." She taps a cabinet door below the counter, then another below the stove. "That's the freezer. The knobs are like buttons; you push them in and they pop out all the way so you can actually open the thing." She demonstrates. "Oh, and the microwave is in there." She points behind the sink.

"Tidy," Shiro comments.

"Boats rock, dude." Matt looks entirely too pleased with himself for that, and even Shiro groans.

"Bad puns aside, yeah, everything's gotta be secured when we're underway," Pidge says as she rolls her eyes. "Now, bedrooms."

"Berths."

" _Matt_."

"Words are important," he retorts. He starts down the stairs and points to the first and only door on the right. "That's the Cave. Laundry is in there, too."

"You probably won't need it, though. At least, I _hope_ not," says Pidge.

"That's Shiro and Keith's room," Matt continues, pointing to the left. "Complete with three feet of headroom and two square feet of floor space, and the TV doesn't work, but the tradeoff is you don't need a step stool to get into bed. Also, easy head access. That's the head." He points to the next door.

"Bathroom," Pidge clarifies.

They move down the hall so that everyone can actually get down the stairs; Keith cringes a little looking at the room he'll be staying in. It's all bed—there really is a miniscule amount of standing room, but there's a little more floor space under the aforementioned TV, where he and Shiro toss their bags. There's also a mirrored door, behind which, presumably, is an equally tiny closet.

He peers into Pidge's room for comparison and finds arguably more space, except the "bed" is a narrow bench that runs along the side of the boat and into a dark alcove under the kitchen. He can see why they call it the Cave.

"Cozy," Shiro comments behind him.

"Wow, Keith, you might have to endure—"

Whatever Lance was going to say is quickly cut off by Shiro's hand. "Remember the agreement," he warns, and Lance's eyebrows drop, but when Shiro removes his hand he doesn't continue.

"We have no qualms with kicking you off, y'know," Pidge says with a grin.

"You'll also get kicked off if you clog the toilets!" Matt adds cheerfully. "They're vacuum-flush and unclogging them fucking _sucks._ Pun intended. Moving on." He gestures grandly—as grandly as he can now that they're all crammed into the little hallway—to the last room. "Lance, we're in here."

Lance wriggles his way past the rest of them, "accidentally" elbowing Pidge but pointedly _not_ touching Keith (as much as possible, anyway). He follows Matt into the room and looks around.

"Wow, there's like… _three_ square feet of floor space in here."

"Space is at a premium, buddy. But look, we've got our own head."

"Oh, sweet." Lance scoots over to look, allowing the rest of them to see that the bed is solidly at waist height—ribcage height, even, for Pidge.

"And that's all there is to this place," Pidge finishes blandly. "Everyone scoot." She waves her hands back toward the main living area, and Keith and Shiro both head back up the stairs while Lance and Matt... explore the bathroom, or something.

"Oh yeah, that's the bow," Pidge adds, pointing out the windshield. "The dinghy's there now, but once we inflate it, there's a cushion out there so you can sunbathe or whatever."

The dinghy looks like a big bundle of tarp strapped to something out of sight from this angle. Shiro and Keith both nod along.

"And the bridge is up." She points up. They nod again.

It's possibly the shortest tour Keith has ever been on, and he's fine with that.

"Okay!" Matt shouts from the stateroom, and then he's sweeping back up to join them, Lance in tow.

"Now we can get going. All hands on deck! Time to cast off!"

"Don't mind him. He's a little overexcited," says Pidge.

" _Hell yeah I am_." Matt shoots finger guns at Lance—who reciprocates with surprised enthusiasm—and darts out the door. The rest of them head out too as he clambers up to the stairs to the deck above.

"The captain's on the bridge!" he hollers, and Pidge sighs.

"I'm gonna start untying us," she says flatly, and hops onto the dock. This vacation's off to a _great_ start—but, knowing this bunch, Keith couldn't have expected better.

* * *

"Almost there!" Matt announces, and Keith jumps. He'd been spacing out watching the ocean roll by; everyone came up to the bridge for the journey and is now sitting on the U-shaped bench in front of the wheel, but they haven't been talking much. It's too loud.

"Good," Lance mutters, barely audible over the wind.

"The roughest part of the trip is coming up," Matt says though, and Lance groans. "But once we're through the channel, we're practically there."

"Where are we going first, again?" Shiro asks.

"Cuttyhunk! Charming little island. You'll see." Matt squints ahead. "Alright, hold tight, everyone."

Keith looks back out the window. They're passing pretty close by an island right now, green and sparse—there are rocks and trees but no buildings to speak of. Untouched. He likes the view.

And then they're turning rather sharply into a gap between this island and the next—it can't be wider than a football field's length—and the boat pounds through the waves harder than before. There are a couple of buoys (he knows what _those_ are, at least) that must mark where the passage is safe, because they pass neatly between them.

"We're alive!" Lance wails, when they hit the other side of the channel and the waves suddenly calm. "We made it!"

Keith rolls his eyes.

"Of course we made it," Shiro says gently.

"I am the _best_ captain," says Matt. "Speaking of... KATIE!"

"YEAH?" she hollers back.

"GET READY TO TIE UP!"

If there's a response, Keith can't hear it. He leans further out the window to see ahead, enjoying the wind in his face. The water is much calmer here, and a long line of rocks with some kind of metal structure on the end stretches out to greet them, marking, he assumes, the entrance to the harbor.

A hand fists in the back of his shirt, then, knuckles pressing into his spine. He glances over his shoulder.

"Don't fall out, dude," says Lance. It's his hand. That's weird, but alright.

"I won't," Keith says, and he faces forward again.

The boat slows when they reach the entrance—there's a little sign on the metal structure that reads "NO WAKE," and he's pretty sure that "wake" refers to the churning water left by their passage. Though, when he turns around—dislodging Lance's hand—to look behind them, they _are_ still leaving a wake. Just much less of one.

"No, Katie didn't fall overboard," says Matt, seemingly to him. He blinks, not quite comprehending, but Lance suddenly spins too, hands on the low windshield protecting the dashboard, apparently recovered now that the water is calm.

"Can I help tie up?" he asks.

"If you want," Matt says and nods toward the stairs. Lance bounces up out of his seat, standing on the cushions so that when Shiro leans forward he can walk around behind him. He descends the steep stairs worryingly quickly, but he apparently makes it safely to the deck below because Keith faintly hears him say, "Show me the ropes, Pidge!" followed by a groan.

Heh. Keith turns around once more. Docks are coming into view now, off the spit of land that extends out to the channel they passed through earlier.

"Looks like a long walk," Shiro comments.

"That's just the gas dock," says Matt. "And the ferry. We're gonna be further in."

More docks do come into sight as they continue on, spotted with boats up to the size of theirs but not really any bigger. Matt is talking into the radio, but Keith decides it's time to follow the action, so he stands on the bench like Lance had and steps around Shiro to get free. He makes his way down the stairs carefully—even without serious rocking, they're steep, and he's not interested in breaking something his first day out—to find Pidge and Lance both tangled in ropes. He pauses one step from the bottom to stare.

Both stare back at him, frozen.

"I can explain," says Lance.

"Try, I dare you," says Pidge flatly.

"Do you... need a hand...?" Keith asks.

" _No_ ," says Lance, and then he proceeds to try and disentangle himself, only to manage to trap one arm bent up by his shoulder. Pidge at least manages to wriggle free of her ropes and picks them up, stepping out onto the swim platform as they chug into the harbor. Which doesn't sit too well on Keith's nerves, so he turns his attention back to Lance.

"Are you _sure_ you don't need a hand?" he asks, fighting a losing battle against the grin growing on his face as Lance tugs sullenly at the ropes.

"I'm _sure_ ," he insists.

Keith steps down onto the deck and leans against the railing at the foot of the stairs. He crosses his arms.

"You know," he says slowly, "since we made that agreement, I can't actually make fun of you for this." Which is kind of tragic because this is pretty hilarious, but he feels it's in the spirit of civility to point it out.

Lance squints at him for a good thirty seconds before he relents.

"Okay, yes, please get me out of this," he says, with a defeated wiggle.

It takes approximately a minute and a half—during which Shiro comes down, watches them with bemusement that edges uncomfortably close to pride, and then proceeds to the bow—to completely untangle Lance. By then, the boat is already backing towards the dock and into a spot marked out by massive wooden poles.

"You're missing your chance, Lance!" Pidge calls over her shoulder, before tossing a line up to a man waiting on the dock.

"Oops." Lance kicks away the last of the rope. "On it!" And then he's swinging up onto the stairs at the side of the boat. Keith looks up the other side to see Shiro attempt to lasso the nearest pole and miss. And miss again. He gets it on his fourth try and turns around.

"Need a hand?" he calls. Faintly, Keith hears Lance's, "No!" in response, and he heads to the other side of the boat.

He gets there just in time to see Lance successfully lasso the pole and then immediately look around to see who saw. When his eyes fall on Keith, Keith lifts his hands and, maintaining eye contact, applauds him quietly.

Lance, of course, immediately points at him and shouts, "You're making fun of me! Matt! Matt, Keith's making fun of me, kick him off."

"Sorry, I'm busy!" Matt shouts back, and Lance slumps.

"This is unfair," he mutters. Keith just grins and shrugs.

* * *

Cuttyhunk, as it turns out, is... small. There's no waterfront resort or luxury _anything_ in the harbor, that's for sure; what there _is_ is a couple of shacks, a row of fish shops along the wharf, and a line of golf carts parked by the side of the single road that leads to the rest of the island. Hell, Keith's not sure there's even a hotel. He certainly doesn't see one as they leave the harbor and walk uphill past three tiny buildings—the post office, library, and school, respectively.

"D'you think this place has pokestops?" Lance asks, eyes glued to his phone.

"It has three," Pidge responds. "And the post office is a gym, if I remember correctly, but good luck getting a signal."

"Hm." Lance holds his phone above his head, and Keith can see he's still on the Pokemon Go loading screen. He can also see Lance is about to blindly stumble into a massive pothole.

"Look out," he says, and tugs on Lance's arm to pull him out of the way.

"Wha—oh." Lance looks at the pothole, then back at his phone. "Thanks," he adds absentmindedly.

Shiro nudges Keith and gives him a look and a rather suspicious smile when Keith turns to him. Keith rolls his eyes and keeps walking. Knowing Shiro, he probably thinks that since Keith has helped Lance twice this trip, and Lance _let_ him, they're best friends now. As far as Shiro is concerned, all you have to do to make friends is smile at someone. Which... does work for him a lot of the time, but Keith isn't Shiro, and two instances of civility do not a friendship make.

They soon turn onto a narrow road between two buildings that honestly looks like a driveway to Keith, not a public street. It widens past the buildings, though, heading straight uphill until the height brings it out of sight. It's lined with a low stone wall and a lot of vegetation, and little else.

Keith is pretty sure they just walked through the entire town in less than five minutes.

"Charming little island, huh," says Shiro.

"We go here first to lower your expectations," Matt explains, grinning over his shoulder. "That way when we get to Newport and Nantucket you'll appreciate them more."

"...I see."

"What's up here, anyway?" Lance asks, phone lowered but still in hand.

"A spectacular view," says Pidge.

She's right, Keith realizes when they reach the top of the hill. They're still a good hour or so out from sunset, but the sun is pretty low in the sky and mostly hidden behind the clouds; it casts a yellow glow on the island that stretches out before them, and beyond, the ocean and the hazy landmasses on the horizon. On one side, the island is green, broken only by yellow footpaths; on the other, there’s the town—Gosnald, he'd seen on a sign earlier—and the road down to the harbor.

It's definitely worth the climb.

"Cold up here," Lance mutters, rubbing his arms. He's finally put his phone away, Keith notes.

"I'm fine," he says.

"Of course _you_ are," Lance says. "I didn't mean that in a bad way," he adds quickly, when Shiro gives him a look. "Just that he's h—he always run a little warm, doesn't he?"

"You almost called me hot," Keith says, smirking.

Lance points at him, eyes narrowed. "You can't prove anything."

"There are extra sweatshirts back on the boat if you didn't bring one," Matt says. "There's also a souvenir shop back down the hill."

Lance's eyes widen. "I _have_ to buy Hunk a shirt here."

Shiro points to the footpaths. "Can we go down that way?"

They can, and they do, through waist-high brush that becomes grass taller than any of them, down the hill and back around on dirt paths that become dirt roads and then, finally, pavement again. They stop for trinkets, then ice cream—Keith is _so_ glad he remembered his pills—and by the time they get back to the boat, he realizes he's unwinding. Relaxing for the first time in a long time, especially since he just finished college—they all did, that's why they're here. That's what this vacation is _for._

He's just a little stunned to realize it's working already.

* * *

Though the morning had found them leaving Cuttyhunk amidst a thick blanket of fog, by the time they reach Block Island, the sun is out in all its glory. Matt and Shiro run off to rent a car so they can head to the beach first thing—Shiro being the only one old enough to do so—and bring back a truly ancient convertible Jeep that honestly looks like it's been in more than a few fender-benders. When Shiro opens the driver's side door, it swings free and bumps against the hood. It even has hand-crank windows.

Shiro drives because the rental's under his name, and Matt scores shotgun by virtue of knowing where they're going. Which leaves Keith and Lance in the back, and Pidge, of course, wedged between them.

"Five people is too many," she grumbles.

"At least we don't have to cram Hunk in too. Or Allura," Lance says, knees pressed against the back of Matt's seat. “Or _both_.”

"We'd have to rent a bus," Shiro says from the front, amusement clear in his voice. "I don't think they had any buses."

"It's a short ride, at least," Matt adds, sounding no less amused.

It _is_ a short ride, during which Keith watches the island go by out the window and Lance stares at the Pokemon Go loading screen. They pull into a sandy strip of a parking lot and miraculously find a spot by the steep dune path to the beach.

It's probably the biggest beach Keith's ever been to, and it's _busy._ Groups of people and their things are staggered in rows up and down the shore as far as he can see, three deep from the edge of the water.

"There," Pidge says, and points to a space that’s reasonably separate from any other group nearby. They make their way there and set everything down; Lance leans in close.

"Race you to the water," he whispers in Keith's ear. Keith glances around, but none of the others seem to have heard.

"You're on," he whispers back, and then he's pulling off his shirt and tossing it in the general direction of the nearest beach bag as he starts sprinting down towards the waves.

"Hey!" Lance says, rushing to follow.

"Hey!" Matt shouts after them, but they're already crashing into the waves—the ice cold waves. Keith stops stock-still knee-deep; Lance screams and scurries back out of the water.

"Serves you right!" Pidge shouts. "No racing!"

"Come _on,_ Pidge!" Lance shouts back, standing where the waves barely reach his toes. "It's just a race!"

"Oh, no," she says darkly, coming down to the water herself. "It's _never_ just a race with you two."

Keith wiggles his toes in the sand. The coldness of the water was a shock, but it's actually not that bad. "Can we get one race a day?"

"Yeah! One race a day. It'll give us an outlet," Lance adds.

"You know we'll just unleash it on you instead," Keith says mildly, and Pidge gives him a Look.

"One race an island," Matt suggests. "Better use your Nantucket race wisely."

"If you give them an inch, they'll take a mile," Pidge warns.

"Think of it as a reward for good behavior," Shiro adds with a grin. Keith exchanges a look with Lance.

"I'm okay with it," says Matt, and Pidge relents.

"Fine," she says. "One race per island. And you've already used your Block Island race."

"Deal," Lance says, and backs into the water to offer Keith a high five. He's careful not to return it with _too_ much force.

Shiro parks himself on the beach blanket, book in one hand and beer in the other, but the rest wade slowly out into the water. Naturally, Lance splashes Pidge before either of them have adjusted to the temperature, and of course she splashes back. Matt gets caught in the spray and retaliates, and then it's all out war; after the first couple of times Keith and Lance go to splash each other and awkwardly pause halfway through, realizing the siblings can see, they fall naturally into teams. Keith and Lance have longer reach and devastating accuracy, but the Holts are a well-oiled machine, perfectly in sync and totally relentless. They drive them back into deeper water until Keith can't splash them without splashing himself in the face.

"Wrecked," Pidge says, looking smug even though she's practically treading water herself.

"You had an unfair advantage," Lance pouts.

They play a few rounds of chicken fight—Matt on Keith's shoulders and Pidge on Lance's—and then a few more once they coax Shiro into the water with the fifth person acting as referee. Eventually, they all trudge back out for drinks and snacks and laze about in the sun, chatting or reading.

"Ha!" Lance sits up suddenly from where he'd been lying, staring at his phone. "I finally connected!"

"And?" Shiro asks.

"And there's a pokestop right over..." He twists. "That way."

"I'll go with you," Shiro offers, getting to his feet.

"Really?"

"Sure." He offers Lance a hand up, and they start up the beach. Everyone watches them go, which means everyone sees Shiro take out his phone, too.

"I thought he stopped playing," Keith says.

Matt snorts. "He's stopped playing the way you and Lance have stopped fighting."

Keith lifts an eyebrow.

"Begrudgingly," Matt clarifies. "And he takes every opportunity to do it anyway."

Pidge snickers.

"I think I resent that," Keith says mildly. Not that he actually cares, and Matt isn't entirely _wrong._

But hey—it's one thing to be nice to Lance and another to avoid competition entirely. Now they just have to be careful that they don't go too far.

* * *

"You gotta come see this," Lance says, tugging on Keith's arm. They've wandered into some souvenir shop after dinner, still dressed up for the restaurant—which, unfortunately, has done Lance all kinds of favors. He's always been attractive, sure, but it's absolute bullshit that all it takes for him to be _distractingly_ so is for him to put on a nice shirt and become slightly less annoying. Keith has been kind of... avoiding him, a little, so he doesn’t have to _deal_ with it.

But right now he doesn't have a choice, because Lance drags Keith over to the back corner of the shop without waiting for a response. He points at a wall of T-shirts each with a nautical pun on them, ranging from kind of funny to truly terrible.

"Look," Lance says, and tugs on one in particular. "This one comes in red and blue. You know what that means?"

Keith stares blankly up at the shirt—"I've been NAUTI!" it proclaims—and thinks he doesn't _want_ to know.

"No...?" he says.

"It means we have to get them, obviously," Lance says, and he links their arms before Keith can escape. "Red for you, and blue for me, and then we'll match."

Keith scans the array of shirts. "Why _this_ one?"

"Because the mental image I have of you wearing this shirt is fucking hilarious."

Well, Keith thinks vaguely, at least he's honest about it. "That doesn't make me want to buy it."

Lance hip-bumps him. "What if I buy it for you?"

On one hand, "I've been NAUTI!" On the other hand… free T-shirt, and Lance is unfortunately pretty and Keith is a weak man.

"...Fine," Keith says finally.

" _Yesss_ ," Lance hisses, and finally lets him go so he can grab two of the shirts. "But you gotta wear it at least once."

"Fine," Keith says again. There's supposed to be a storm tomorrow, so they're not gonna be leaving the boat all day anyway.

He doesn't escape in time to avoid getting dragged to the register, and then once they find the others and file out of the store, Lance thrusts the bag into his hands to carry. And, Keith would complain. He probably should. But it's still pretty novel for Lance to just treat him like he treats everyone else, like a friend—and, he'd reiterate, Keith is a weak man and Lance looks _good_ —so Keith will carry the damn bag, no matter what looks Shiro shoots him, because Lance grins widely at him in return. And somehow, it feels worth it.

* * *

Keith wakes on day three to an unearthly wailing, clanking, and the slap of water against something solid, and for a hot second he half thinks he's fallen asleep on an amusement park ride. But no, he's in bed, and Shiro is still snoring a foot away—which means either he's woken up ungodly early, or Shiro and Matt were drinking and chatting up top absurdly late. He certainly doesn't remember Shiro coming in last night.

He half-sits up—there's not enough headroom at the top of the bed even to sit straight—extricates himself from the sheets, and crawls to the foot of the bed to check his phone. It's just about 9 am, which means the latter case is true, which means he might very well be the first one up. Probably not by much though, even though they're staying put today, so there's not much point in going back to sleep. Reluctantly, he climbs out of bed.

Using the bathroom is an interesting affair, it turns out, when the boat is rocking as much as it is.

He is, on the other hand, very much awake when he stumbles back out of the tiny bathroom to get dressed, and therefore he remembers to wear the shirt Lance bought him. He even feels a little smug pulling it on, which is absolutely not a feeling he should be having about a shirt that says, "I've been NAUTI!"

The clamor only gets louder when he emerges into the galley, and he makes a beeline for the curtain, drawing it back just enough to look out the door. Every boat in sight is rocking as much as theirs, which explains the clanking and water noises; the wailing, he realizes, must be the wind.

He wishes a little bit it were pouring rain, too, but it's barely even drizzling. Just gray and windy.

Then he hears a grumble behind him that might be "morning" and turns; Pidge is sitting at the table, still in her pajamas, eyes unfocused but looking in his general direction. A coffee maker is chugging away on the counter.

Pre-coffee Pidge noticed him before he noticed her. _That's_ embarrassing.

"Morning," he responds, and replaces the curtain.

"Fffmmrg," she says.

"Uh huh."

The second the coffee maker goes quiet, he pours her a cup and hands it to her, and grabs her the cream out of the fridge, too. She makes her thank you noise—he hasn't heard it since they were roommates sophomore year, but it's still familiar, he's had a lot of experience with pre-coffee Pidge—and fills the cup the rest of the way with it.

With Pidge appeased, he pours his own coffee and pokes around the kitchen cabinets. He hasn't the faintest clue where pans are kept, and Pidge won't be conscious for another ten minutes at least, but he's hungry.

He's gone through every cabinet twice and found nothing when Pidge finally asks, in a sleepy grumble, "What're you looking for?"

"A pan."

"Under the sofa." She points across the booth to the sofa below, and Keith slowly turns to face her.

"You keep pans. Under the _sofa_."

"Pots are here," she adds helpfully, kicking the underside of the booth seat in front of her.

Well. He supposes he didn't exactly see room for them anywhere else.

"Nice shirt," she adds.

"Thanks. Want an egg?"

"Please."

Shiro emerges while they're eating. He makes a beeline for the coffee, and only after does he look to them.

"...That's an interesting shirt," he says.

"It's Lance's fault," Keith responds, and Shiro raises an eyebrow.

"Lose a bet?"

"Not exactly."

Shiro squints at him, then nods slowly.

"This vacation will be good for you guys," he says slowly, as if to himself, and turns to the stove to make himself breakfast, too. Pidge snorts with a mouthful of egg.

It's not long before Matt gets up too, and then Lance, who grins and winks at him when he sees the shirt but, surprisingly, doesn't bring it up. Together, all five of them drown out the noise of the storm for the most part. At least, they do until Lance slides open the door, and the roar of wind gets that much louder.

"You said the wifi here works, right?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Yeah, if you get up high enough," Matt calls back. "Up top's your best shot."

"I'm gonna try to Skype Hunk if anyone's interested." He heads out, closing the door behind him. Pidge slides off the booth to follow and so does Keith.

"Tell them I'll be up in a bit," Shiro calls after them.

The wifi, as it turns out, isn't really good enough for Skype, but the cell signal is fine, so Lance puts Hunk on speakerphone and they chat away the morning, catching him up on the start of their trip and what he's missing ("So far, not much," says Pidge).

It's only afterwards that Lance looks at the shirt, looks at him, and says, "Wait a second."

"Yeah?"

"We're not _going_ anywhere today."

Keith grins. "You didn't specify _when_ I had to wear it."

Lance throws his head back and groans. "Dammit! I hate you so much."

"Lance," Pidge says warningly.

"It's fine," says Keith. "And anyway, I _did_ wear it."

"Ugh. I _guess._ But you gotta wear it again someday."

"That wasn't part of the agreement," Keith says, knowing perfectly well that someday he will run out of laundry and have no choice but to wear it again.

"I hate you," Lance says again.

"And yet you bought me a t-shirt." Keith grins.

"Nice try, Lance," Pidge says, patting his shoulder, and he pouts.

* * *

"So we've done Cuttyhunk, and we're on Block Island," Shiro lists. "Next is... Montauk?"

"Yeah, for one night," says Pidge from where she's fully draped across the table. With nowhere to go today, they're staying in, and boredom is rampant. Matt broke out a handful of enormous books of nautical charts and he and Shiro are going through them now.

"Montauk," Shiro repeats, and Keith can hear him flipping through the pages. "Montauk... Long Island?"

"Yeah, this one." Matt's voice is accompanied by a heavy thump.

"Newport after," Pidge continues. "Then Tarpaulin Cove—one night each—then Nantucket for the last four nights."

"I've heard of Newport," Keith offers from the sofa. He's half-dozing, but Lance is lounging restlessly on the rest of the sofa, and that and the noise from the rest is keeping him from actually falling asleep.

Lance nudges him with a foot. "So you've never heard about the man from Nantucket?" he asks, like there's a _specific_ man Keith should know about, and Pidge and Matt groan in unison.

"Don't you dare recite it," says Pidge. "I swear to every god, I will murder you if you recite it."

"Dad scarred us for life already. This boat is now a man-from-Nantucket-free zone," says Matt.

"What are you talking about?" Shiro asks.

"It's a limerick."

Keith cracks an eye open to see Lance pout.

"Fine, but you have to google it," he says.

Keith closes his eye again, but his curiosity and boredom soon get the better of him, and he takes out his phone.

It _is_ a limerick, and an _incredibly dirty_ one. He wouldn't go so far as to call it _scarring,_ though.

"How do you even know about this?" he asks Lance, who sits up to look over his shoulder at his phone. He grins.

"There was this girl—"

"I've heard enough, never mind."

"You're no fun." Lance flops back onto the sofa, dropping his feet in Keith's lap. Keith pushes them off.

Lance doesn't retaliate.

* * *

"Do you think mermaids exist?" Lance says, looking out across the open water. The voyage out from Block Island, as it turns out, is the nicest they've had so far, sunny and clear despite the storm yesterday; the two of them are sitting on the deck to soak it in, even though it kind of smells like exhaust back here.

"No," says Keith. Lance turns his head to glare at him.

"You're no fun," he says. "Even Pidge likes to speculate."

Keith sighs. "If there _were_ mermaids, they wouldn't be _here_ ," he points out. "There's gotta be boats coming through here all the time, not to mention fisherman, and all those lobster buoys we keep almost running over. It'd be noisy and dangerous. If they existed, they'd be out in the deep ocean where they can live undisturbed."

By the end of his explanation, Lance is gaping.

"Dude."

"What?"

"...Nothing." Lance shakes his head. "Okay. So you agree there _could_ be mermaids in the deep ocean?"

"No. There's no proof, and anyway, with all the adaptations they'd need to live down there, they probably wouldn't meet your definition of 'mermaid' anymore."

"But it's _plausible_."

Keith rolls his eyes. " _Plausible,_ but you're only running off a belief. It might as well be a religion."

" _Shots fired_ ," Lance hisses under his breath, grinning. "Fine. I'll be the founder of the church of mermaids. I'm excommunicating you, though."

"I'll live."

* * *

Montauk, Keith decides, is too hot. And humid. And not really meant for tourism—at least, not around the marina. There's a touristy part nearby—which is where they are now, cowering in the air conditioning of a whirligig shop—but it took them a good fifteen minutes to get here, and it won't take any less to get back.

"Ice _creaaam_ ," Lance whines, draping his sweaty self over Keith's back and adhering. Keith grimaces and arches his back inward in an attempt to limit contact.

"It is _way_ too hot for you to be touching me right now."

"Buy me ice cream," Lance whimpers in his ear.

"This is blackmail."

"I bought you a shirt." Lance wraps his arms around his shoulders and shuffles closer. Shiro grins at them from across the store and Keith flips him off.

"I'll buy a soda and we can share it," he offers. Lance puffs against his ear.

"Root beer float," he says.

"I didn't bring my pills."

"...Smoothie?"

"Fine. Now get off." Keith shrugs him off, and Lance whines again but finally detaches himself. Keith meets Shiro's eye and points out the door, and Shiro nods.

And then Lance links their arms and tugs him out of the blessedly cool(er) store and out into the sun.

"There!" he says, practically bouncing as he points out a building a ways down the road with a line at the window and a menu posted on the wall beside it. It does look like the sort of place that'll have a smoothie, if anywhere here will.

"Fine," Keith says, already being dragged towards it. It's to his great disappointment that they find the line extends out of the reach of the window's awning, leaving them out in the sun; he has to squint at the menu just to see it.

"Do you want... strawberry, or orange pineapple?"

"You can choose, you're buying," Lance says.

"I don't care, you were the one who wanted a smoothie in the first place."

"Well, I don't care either," Lance nudges him with his elbow. "You pick."

Keith shoots him a glare. "Lance."

Lance grins. "Keith."

Whatever. "I'm getting strawberry, then, and you're not allowed to complain about it."

"I won't!"

It takes five minutes for them to reach the front of line, and Lance doesn't take out his phone once. Just hums contentedly and looks around,occasionally making comments on the people he sees, all without letting go of Keith's arm.

And then, once they finally get their smoothie, he asks for an extra straw.

"What're you gonna do?" Keith asks, baffled. "Jam them both in the same hole?"

"That's what she said," Lance says—Keith rolls his eyes—and does exactly that. Both stick up in the same direction, squashed together and absolutely pointless. They regard the straws for a moment.

"What was your goal here, exactly?"

"Well, we're sharing."

"And you didn't want to share straws?" Keith languidly shifts his gaze up from the smoothie in his hand to Lance's face. "Because I hate to break it to you, but this isn't going to be much different."

"No, listen." Lance grabs hold of the straws and bends them apart. "See, we can still—"

"They're bent, you won't get any smoothie through it—"

"If we hold them—"

"You want to _hold them apart_ —?"

"Just _try_ it, asshole," Lance says, and ducks in to sip from his straw. Keith huffs and pointedly does so as well, pushing into Lance's cheek with his own to make room so that their faces are awkwardly pressed together cheek-to-cheek, ear-to-ear.

It's a good smoothie, though.

"Is this any better, Lance?" Keith asks around his straw.

"Okay, you know what," Lance mumbles around his; Keith can feel his jaw moving. "Fuck you."

"This is so much better than sharing a straw. Brilliant, Lance."

"I hate you so much."

They both finally detach from the smoothie to glare at each other.

"So sorry if I give you cooties," Keith says flatly.

"Shut up, there's only one way to settle this," Lance declares, folding his arms. "We haven't used our Montauk race yet."

Intriguing. Keith lifts an eyebrow.

"What kind of race?"

"A race," Lance says, grabbing the cup (and Keith's hand) and lifting it, "to finish our smoothie."

This is the worst idea Keith has ever heard.

"You're on," he says, and yanks the cup away to suck on both straws at once. Lance yelps and tries to grab it from him, and when Keith doesn't relent he pulls one of the straws literally out of Keith's mouth. It catches on his lip on the way out and Keith is _pretty_ sure he can faintly taste blood, but he keeps going.

What follows is the stupidest race Keith has ever participated in. They keep bumping noses—accidentally at first—even while they try to wrestle the cup from each other. They're probably causing a huge scene. There's no way to tell who's winning. _It's the same damn cup._

And then their combined grip on the cup gets a little too tight and the lid pops off, and in fumbling to replace it, they manage to drop the cup entirely.

If they weren't making a scene before, they certainly are now: two boys with straws in their mouths, still connected by the lid, and half a cup of spilled smoothie splattered across their legs and feet. In unison, they both look down to the fallen cup, then back up at each other.

A giggle erupts from Keith's throat, and Lance quickly follows suit, catching the lid before it falls too. Keith laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes and a stitch in his side; Lance is doubled over, wheezing for breath.

This, of course, is how the rest of the group finds them.

"I don't know how this happened," Pidge says as Keith struggles to control his laughter, "but I'm mad I wasn't here to record it for posterity."

"Keith, you're bleeding," Shiro says. The cut in his lip stings now that he's reminded of it, but he can't stop grinning even as he lifts a hand to touch it—before Lance swats his hand away and hands him a napkin instead.

"Gross, dude, do you even know where your hands have been?" He's still grinning too.

"Do _you?_ " Matt challenges then, wiggling his eyebrows, and that finally gets the grins off their faces.

"Synchronized glaring," Pidge whispers. "Incredible."

* * *

"Welcome to Newport," Pidge announces as they back into their spot at the dock. "The port of expensive shops, expensive restaurants, Ben & Jerry's, and feeling really smug every time you walk through the 'boat owners only' gate."

"That's just Bannister's Wharf," Matt calls from the bridge.

"Whatever."

They're all a well-oiled machine when it comes to docking now, tossing lines and hopping onto the rocking docks to tie up. Keith has gotten the hang of tying cleats by now and meeting Lance's eyes across the boat spurs them into an impromptu race. Keith thinks they're being subtle but apparently Pidge has the eyes of a hawk, because she puts her hands on her hips and glares at them both when they hop back aboard.

"That's your Newport race done," she says. "Don't think I'm not keeping track."

"What? No, that didn't count!" Lance protests. "C'mon, Pidge, we weren't racing."

"You're only saying that because you lost." Keith grins.

"Hey, _I_ won. _You_ lost."

"You're both losers," says Pidge, "and you've used your Newport race."

"Can we race untying too, at least?" Lance pleads, batting his eyelashes at her. "Pretty please?"

"Nope. Too likely to fuck up and hurt yourselves, or get someone left behind by accident," she says. "But you're welcome to race washing the boat down."

"That's devious, Pidge."

"There's only one hose," adds Keith. She waves a hand.

"I'm sure you two can figure something out," she says. "I'm gonna go have lunch. Either of you want a hot dog?"

"Sure," says Keith.

"Yes please," says Lance.

"Then have at it, and godspeed," she says, and slips inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. Keith and Lance meet eyes.

"Boat washing race?" Lance asks.

"Boat washing race," Keith confirms, and then they're scrambling for the hose.

It's not really clear who wins—it ends up more of a cooperative race than anything—and by the end of it they're both thoroughly soaked for spraying each other. The actual cleanliness of the boat is probably debatable, too, but Lance is beaming at him with his wet hair all stuck up and it's _cute_ so, you know. The boat can handle it.

And when they go inside Matt demands they change into dry clothes before they claim their hot dogs so they don't get the whole boat soggy. Keith has a minor crisis when he digs around for a fresh shirt and finds "I've been NAUTI!" again; it's not too dirty, he didn't do anything that day and he didn't even wear it to dinner. He could wear it again, and Lance would grin at him again, and...

And clearly he's not thinking rationally. He shakes his head sharply to try and clear it, takes a deep breath, and finds a different shirt.

There's a knock on his door. "Hey, Keith," says Lance. "Are you dressed yet? Get your wet stuff so we can use the dryer."

"Uh, yeah." Keith pulls his shirt on the rest of the way and gathers up his wet clothes. He opens the door to find Lance with his arms similarly full. Lance nods behind him, across the hall to Pidge's room.

"I dunno if boat laundry is weird but I bet between the two of us we can figure it out," he says.

It is, and they do, eventually, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the washer-dryer-combo. When the drum starts turning Keith goes for a high five and Lance goes for a hug; it's a quick thing, so much so that he doesn't have time to reciprocate, but Lance is already scrambling to his feet and charging up into the galley demanding to know where his hot dog is.

So, okay, fine. Keith goes to claim his (cold) hot dog and chat with the rest of his friends like they hadn't just had an achingly domestic moment on the floor in front of a washer/dryer.

It's a balm to his rather confused heart that after eating Lance, Shiro, and Pidge decide to head out for a Pokemon walk, leaving Keith and Matt to explore at a more leisurely pace. The weather here is much nicer than Montauk; they meander up the wharf, poking their noses into shops here and there just to gawk at the prices, and then up the street where the shops become less boutique-y and more tourist-y. Matt points out a shirt hanging in the open door of one such shop; it's got a skull and crossbones and reads "Booty Hunter."

"You should get that for Lance," he says. "In return for that nauti shirt."

Keith examines it. "I'm pretty sure he'd choose to wear this on his own," he says.

"Exactly," says Matt. "What better way to make someone feel guilty than by repaying a gag gift with something heartfelt?"

Well, the Holt siblings are _definitely_ related.

"You'd call a T-shirt about 'hunting booty' heartfelt?" Keith questions, turning to look at him.

"I mean. It demonstrates a clear understanding of his interests—both the 'hunting booty' part and the inherent humor— _and_ is a practical gift too, being, y'know. Clothing." Matt grins. "So yeah, I'd call it heartfelt, or at least close enough."

"Hmm." Keith looks at the shirt again. It's tempting for a lot of reasons, but...

"Hold on," he says, turning to Matt again. "You're encouraging me to get back at him."

"Nonsense! I'm just suggesting you get your friend a gift." Matt winks.

Keith blinks at him, expression flat.

"Okay, in seriousness, the whole agreement thing was Pidge's idea, not mine," he admits. "And Shiro thinks you guys have learned to get along or whatever by now, so like, mission accomplished." He shrugs. "Don't tell him or Pidge I said so, though."

"So, what, you guys set us up? To make us get along?" Keith makes a face.

"I mean, it's not like that was the point of this vacation," says Matt. "And we did have genuine safety concerns, you guys can tend to go a little overboard. Didn't want you to make that literal." He grins.

It does, admittedly, sound like a Shiro-and-Pidge sort of plot. Those two get devious when they think they're working for the benefit of their friends. But... Keith _is_ enjoying getting along with Lance—even if the revelation of his attractiveness is throwing him for a loop—so he can't be _too_ mad at their meddling. Their meddling they weren't even subtle about, now that he thinks about it.

"I'm gonna buy the shirt," Keith decides, and starts to enter the shop, then pauses. "What if he stops to buy it himself on the way back?"

"Highly unlikely, but I'll warn Pidge just in case," says Matt, waving his phone.

"Thanks," says Keith. He buys the shirt.

They go a little further on—and end up spending an absurd amount of time in an olive oil shop, sampling the wide array of flavors Keith hadn't known existed—and then meander on back, Keith with his shirt and Matt with his oil. They stop at the Ben & Jerry's on the wharf before heading back down through the private gate to the boat.

"Keith," Matt says out of nowhere around his spoon, "do you ever suddenly realize one of your friends is really hot?"

Keith stares at him. "What?"

"Well, do you?"

Unbidden, he thinks of Lance. "...Yeah. Why?"

"No reason." Matt shrugs and steps neatly on the swim platform. Bemused, Keith follows.

It's not long before the other three show up, too. Keith wordlessly hands the bag with the shirt in it (minus the receipt) to Lance, who looks at him, puzzled, before peering inside. His eyebrows lift.

"Did you... get me...?" He pulls the shirt out, eyes scanning across it for one tense moment; then he bursts into laughter and Keith relaxes, grinning.

"Alright, I need to see this shirt." Pidge peers around under Lance's arm and snorts. "Okay, I see why you had to get it."

"What's it say?" Shiro asks, and Lance turns it so he can read it. Shiro slaps his palm to his face and shakes his head.

"This is the _best_ shirt," Lance declares. He looks around a moment, drops the bag and the shirt on the table, then pulls off the shirt he's wearing then and there to swap to the new one. Keith tries not to stare.

"C'mere, Keith," Lance says once he's got the shirt on, waving him over. "We're taking a commemorative selfie. Get over here."

Keith shuffles over and Lance slings an arm around his neck and pulls him closer, holding his phone up. He makes a duck face and a peace sign with the hand dangling in front of Keith's chest; Keith sticks out his tongue, expression otherwise flat. Lance makes sure "Booty Hunter" is visible before he snaps the picture.

"This is beautiful," Lance says, lowering his phone so they can look at the picture but keeping his other arm where it is. "I'm gonna cherish this forever. Thanks, man."

Keith shrugs. "You got _me_ a shirt," he says. "It's only fair."

"Yeah but you didn't even _like_ that shirt. And you bought that smoothie—oh man." Lance slaps a hand to his face in mock shock. "Now I gotta _pay you back_."

From across the room, Matt grins at Keith. Damn, he can't believe that actually worked.

"I'm not taking your money," Keith begins.

"Nah, nah, I'll figure something else out." Lance flaps a hand as he finally lets go, picking up his previous shirt and backing away. He narrows his eyes and points at Keith. " _Just you wait_."

"Looking forward to it," Keith says with a smirk. Lance makes the I'm-watching-you gesture, almost falls down the stairs, and turns to head down to his room.

* * *

"I feel like Hunk," Lance moans.

They've been anchored in Tarpaulin Cove for barely an hour now, but Keith has to admit the constant rocking is getting to him too. There are no docks here to shelter them—no structures at all, in fact, except for what looks like a small cattle farm by the shore. It's a popular spot, by the number of other boats anchored in the cove with them, but there's only beach and boulders to attract them.

"No wifi, only beach!" Matt had announced cheerfully when they dropped anchor. Now he and Shiro are on the bow wrestling the dinghy to inflation, while Keith and Pidge pack lunches and Lance complains while slumped over the table.

"You could toss some towels in the beach bag," Pidge suggests. "Take your mind off it."

Lance groans louder.

Keith turns and nudges his dangling foot. "Help me with lunch, then."

Lance frowns at him for a moment. Then, surprisingly, he heaves himself upward with a sigh and slips off the bench to join them. Or, rather, join Keith, because Pidge happily cedes her spot, and there's barely room for two in the galley anyway.

"Whose is this?" he asks, looking at the half-made sandwich Pidge abandoned.

"Shiro's."

"...Are you gonna stop me if I try to put hot sauce in it?"

Keith, who knows perfectly well Shiro would happily put hot sauce in his own sandwich, grins.

"No, but if he asks who did it, I'm not taking the fall," he says.

Lance grins back. "Fair enough," he says, and crouches down to rummage through the fridge. Somewhere behind them, Pidge snorts.

* * *

"Solid ground!" Lance wails as the dinghy finally putters up to the beach, practically on the other side of the cove. He stumbles out into knee deep water and wades to shore with hands lifted to the sky, to fall to his knees in the sand.

The rest of them climb out of the dinghy too as Matt cuts the motor, and they help unload, not that they brought much. Lance does help unfold the chairs before he's rummaging through the beach bag.

"Ha!" He lifts his phone triumphantly. "I'm going for a walk."

"Seriously? There's no wifi here, Lance," says Pidge.

"No, but there _are_ pokestops. Well, a pokestop and a gym. Who wants to come with?"

Shiro and Matt don't even acknowledge—they're completely wrapped up in talking to each other, _giggling_ even, and the last thing Keith wants is to be left here with them. The look Pidge shoots him says, plainly, "don't leave me."

"I'll go," says Keith.

"A plague on your household," Pidge mutters and sets herself in a chair with a book.

"Lol," says Lance, verbally. He doesn't even spell it out. "Okay, let's go."

Where Lance walks with his phone above his head, searching for a signal, Keith finds himself looking down at the rocks and shells washed up by the tide. There are a lot, and as he quickly finds, there's seaglass among them. Brown and green, mostly, but some are white, and he does find a sort of yellowish one too. They pass a few other people—families, and others scouring the beach for treasures—and they nod to each other and move on.

"Ha!" Lance shouts suddenly, and Keith jumps. Lance has been so uncharacteristically quiet he'd half forgotten he was there.

"What?"

"Found the pokestop. It's that sign." He points to a large white sign in the beach grass, allowing use of the beach but requesting no one go further into the island than that. It's the only thing man made anywhere nearby. Keith squints down the beach to where there's another such sign.

"Is the next one the gym?" he asks, and Lance looks up.

"I think so, yeah," he says, and they continue on.

The next piece of seaglass Keith finds is a brilliant blue that, he's a little uncomfortable to realize, reminds him of Lance's eyes. Rather than linger on that thought, he holds the glass out to Lance.

"Look, it's your favorite color," he says.

"Ooh." Lance actually lowers his phone and picks it up out of Keith's hand. "Pretty. It's mine now."

"I was giving it to you," says Keith. Better that than keep it and have to be reminded of Lance's eyes every time he sees it.

"Oh. Thanks." Lance sounds a little bemused, but he tucks the glass into his pocket anyway. "You gotta stop giving me stuff dude, I'll never catch up at this rate and that doesn't seem like a race worth winning."

"It's just seaglass, Lance."

"Still." They fall quiet again.

The beach, Keith is starting to realize, looked big from the water, but it’s even bigger on foot. They've been walking for more than five minutes—probably closer to ten—and their friends are specks on the beach behind them, and the far end of the beach where it becomes all rocks is just as far ahead.

And he and Lance have been in companionable near-silence this whole time. No fighting, no arguing, no pointed silences. Just walking together, quietly.

Maybe Shiro was right; this vacation _has_ been good for them.

He finds a little more sea glass on the way to the next sign, and then the beach changes; there are less rocks, but more seaweed. In fact, this part of the beach seems to be _entirely_ seaweed, covered in a thin layer of sand, by the strange way it gives under their feet. Lance doesn't seem to notice until his foot nearly punches through a patch of the stuff, and then he's flailing for balance. Keith reaches to catch him and almost drops his seaglass, and Lance ends up clinging to his arm.

They laugh.

Keith shoves his sea glass in his pocket, and by some miraculous, unspoken agreement, they link hands and pick their way across the deceptive sands together, giggling whenever the other stumbles but steadying them all the same. They stop in the lee of a boulder taller than either of them, and Lance holds up his phone with a smirk.

"Time for battle," he declares.

They lean against the boulder shoulder to shoulder, and Keith watches Lance take over the gym—not that it's a terribly impressive feat, since the gym seems pretty weak to begin with. Not that he knows much about Pokemon Go, either, other than what he's picked up from Shiro.

Still, when Lance wins the battle and puts his own Pokemon in place, Keith applauds with minimal sarcasm, and Lance grins right back.

And then makes a noise of dismay as he loses his cell signal.

"Nooo, come back!" he pleads, lifting the phone as high above his head as it'll go.

"At least it waited till you won," Keith points out.

"Yeah, but I wanna hit up that pokestop again on the way back." Lance pouts and pushes off the boulder. "Let's go, maybe it'll come back."

"'Kay."

Lance's hand finds his again—Keith could really get used to this—and they make their way back across the seaweed. They don't let go after, either—at least, not until they reach the first sign again, at which point Lance groans loudly and tries holding his phone up with both hands at once, as though that will make a difference.

"Still no signal?" Keith peers up at the phone—it does appear to be on a loading screen.

"Yeah." Lance pouts. "I even tried restarting it. Nothing."

"Bummer."

"You are _so_ unsympathetic."

"You got it on the way out, plus the gym." Keith shrugs. "Considering all there is here is beach, I think you did pretty well."

Lance sighs. "I _guess_."

"And you maintained your daily streak, too."

Lance squints at him. "You don't play Pokemon Go..."

"Shiro did. Does."

"Oh, right." Lance nods slowly and lowers his phone. "I guess this is a lost cause. Let's go back?"

"Yeah." They set off—not holding hands this time, but since they're in sight of their friends, that's probably for the best.

This does not stop Shiro from catching Keith’s arm when Lance drops his phone in the bag and runs whooping down to the water, to keep him from following.

"Did I see you two holding hands out there?" he asks, a horrible mixture of smug and teasing and proud that only he can pull off.

"Wow, did you look away from Matt long enough to notice?" Keith retorts, and Shiro goes bright red and doesn't press the issue.

* * *

They're both disappointed to learn Shiro ate his loaded sandwich while they were gone, but at least when Pidge tells them he _liked_ it Keith still gets to enjoy the look on Lance's face.

* * *

With the dinghy bobbing in the water behind them, the cushions on the bow are finally free. Which means that, after sunset, the five of them cram onto the bow to look at the stars because out here on the ocean there's very little light pollution.

Keith slips into the space between Lance and Shiro—crams himself, really—which turns out to be even more uncomfortable than predicted, because Shiro and Matt are whispering constantly, and the sunburn that hadn't been bothering him this afternoon definitely is now. Lance actually cringes back from the heat he's giving off.

"Jesus, you're hot," he says. And then, "Wait."

"So you finally admit it?" Keith smirks at him in the dim light from the cabin while Pidge snickers.

"I hate you," Lance says. "I hate you so much. You are the worst thing that's ever happened to me. You've ruined my life." And he crosses his arms and looks away.

"I try." Keith nudges his shoulder and settles in to watch the stars.

The clarity of the sky is astonishing. There are almost too many stars for Keith to pick out the constellations he knows at first, and the Milky Way is a broad, bright swathe across the sky. And soon enough, Lance unfolds, and his hand curls into Keith's, not quite _holding_ but still deliberate, like here under the stars this is normal for them.

Maybe now it is.

It's not long before Pidge gets up and leaves, muttering something about lovebirds. Lance scoots over a little—like her absence made any difference in how cramped the cushions are when she wasn't on them in the first place—and Keith wiggles an inch away from Shiro, who's pointing out constellations to Matt like he doesn't know them all already. Matt doesn't seem to mind, though.

_Double date,_ a corner of Keith's mind he's been studiously ignoring whispers, and he pushes it away even as Lance's hand closes more firmly around his.

Eventually, though, the cool night air that felt good on his sunburn is starting to feel _cold_ on his sunburn, and when Lance shifts Keith can feel the goosebumps on his arm. He's starting to think he'll have to move, break the spell and head inside—at _least_ to grab his sweatshirt—but Shiro is the one to take the leap. He sits up, and the atmosphere is shattered.

"I'm getting cold," he says. "Anyone want a sweatshirt?"

"Yes," Lance says sleepily.

"Please," says Keith.

"I think I'm just gonna head in, actually," Matt says, sitting up too. "You guys want a blanket or something? Just don't let it blow away."

"Sure," says Keith.

They get up. Keith doesn't bother moving yet though, and Lance is probably jammed uncomfortably against the edge of the cushions, but he doesn't complain. Keith's not sure he's even awake.

It's only a couple minutes before a shout comes from above; Keith sits up and turns, making Lance whine and tug on his arm. He finds Shiro leaning out the open plastic window on the bridge, dangling what must be their sweatshirts down to him. He gets up to grab them; Lance whines again, and Keith drops his sweatshirt on his face.

"Here's a beach towel to use as a blanket, too," Shiro says, and drops that down as well.

"Thanks," says Keith.

"Have fun," says Shiro, grinning. Keith makes to throw the towel at him and he ducks out of view, laughing.

Lance, when Keith turns back, is still lying with his face covered by his sweatshirt. Keith tugs on his own sweatshirt and then nudges him with a foot.

"You alive?"

Lance groans.

"Put your sweatshirt on."

He groans louder.

"You know, if you're tired, you can just go to bed."

There's a pause, and then Lance gropes blindly for the sweatshirt and drags it down off his face to glare at him.

"You sound like Shiro," he grumbles.

"Where do you think I learned how to nag?" Keith grins and sits on the cushions, a reasonable distance away, now that they have the whole thing to themselves. "Put it on and get over here." He holds out a hand—heart in his throat at the offer because they haven't even _acknowledged_ they were holding hands earlier. Talking about it somehow seems like it will break whatever fragile thing has been growing between them.

But Lance just pouts at his hand, and sits up, and puts on his sweatshirt, and scoots over to join him in the center of the cushions. And he takes Keith's hand again.

They tuck the towel around their legs for the extra warmth and lie beneath the stars, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand.

* * *

Keith wakes with a start, eyes falling on an odd dark gradient of black to blue-gray that doesn't look at all like his ceiling. And then he hears the wind and feels the bed rocking and remembers he's on a boat.

And then realizes he can _feel_ the wind too, and that one side of his body is freezing and the other comfortably warm. He looks down and finds Lance clinging to him, head pillowed on his shoulder, and _then_ it clicks into place.

They fell asleep on the fucking bow.

He fumbles with a numb, sleep-heavy hand for his phone and drags it up his face, wincing at how the motion pulls his sunburned skin. It's almost 5:30 am; the blue-gray of the sky is the impending sunrise. They've been here all damn night.

He's tempted to just go back to sleep anyway, but he's _freezing,_ and, well. If they sneak back inside before anyone else wakes up, it's that much less teasing to endure.

That decided, he shifts, lifting his arm to prod Lance's.

"Lance," he says groggily. "Lance, wake up."

Lance grumbles something and turns his head further into Keith's shoulder, which is cute, but _really_ not what he needs right now.

" _Lance_." He shakes him a little. "It's sunrise, wake up. We're still on the bow."

"Mrf." Lance opens a single unfocused eye. "Wrgh?"

If that was supposed to be a word, Keith has no idea what it was. "Wake up. We've been out here all night."

"Nnnwhat," Lance manages. He lifts his head and blinks blearily at Keith.

Shit, how's he gonna get back inside without falling off the boat if he's like this?

"You gotta wake up, Lance," Keith says urgently, and pushes him gently but firmly off himself. He sits up, detaching Lance's arms even as they try to pull him back down.

"Rude," Lance gurgles.

"Lance. Look around. Where are we right now?"

Lance blinks at him again, slowly, and then he does. It takes a moment, but then his eyes focus and widen, and he tenses up.

"Oh," he says.

"Yeah," says Keith.

"...Shit."

"Yeah."

Lance sits up slowly, looking towards the brightening horizon. "We fell asleep," he mumbles.

"Yes, Lance," Keith says as patiently as he can manage. Lance groans and slumps against Keith's shoulder.

"D'you think Shiro 'n' Matt noticed?" he asks, voice still heavy with sleep. Keith hates how much he enjoys the sound—this is _really_ not the time.

"God, I hope not," he says. "But if they didn't, we gotta get back inside before they wake up, or they will."

Lance groans again, turning his face into Keith's neck.

"Don't fall back asleep," Keith warns. "I don't want you to fall off the boat on the way back in."

"A week ago you woulda pushed me off," Lance mumbles into his collarbone, and Keith tenses.

"A week ago, so would you, and now we've spent all night cuddling," Keith says tightly. "Lance."

There's a moment's pause, then Lance sits up so fast he knocks into Keith's jaw. He scrabbles for the towel that's wrapped up in their tangled legs, face red.

"Shit," he mutters. "You didn't—you should've—I didn't realize you weren't—shit, I'm sorry."

Keith blinks at him, thrown. "What? Why?"

"You just—I'm sorry!"

"For what!?"

"Everything!" Lance finally frees himself and starts to stagger upwards. Keith, with the sense that everything they've gained will fall apart if he lets Lance leave now, catches his arm.

"Lance, you gotta explain because I can't think of anything for you to be sorry for," he says all in one breath.

Lance freezes. "You just said—about the cuddling—you didn't want to?"

Now Keith is really baffled. "When did I say I didn't want to!?"

"Just now! Look." Lance sits back down, runs a hand through his hair, and doesn't meet Keith's eyes. "You don't have to go along with it just because of the agreement, okay? If you don't want to, just say so."

Keith stares at him, processing. So Lance thinks... he's letting him hold his hand and stuff, because the alternative is... fighting?

"Really?" he says disbelievingly. "You think I would—just because of the agreement?"

"Well, I don't know why you would otherwise," Lance says defensively, wrapping his arms around himself.

"'Cause I like you?" Keith points out. And then he realizes what he's said. "Shit." He hides his face in his hands, feeling heat rise in it that's definitely not just sunburn. Fuck, he'd been trying not to admit it to _himself,_ let alone to Lance—and Lance isn't _saying_ anything, fuck fuck fuck.

"Since _when?_ " Lance asks finally, quietly. Keith can only shrug.

He has no idea. Maybe he has for a while and never noticed until now. Maybe it's a recent development. He's been trying not to think about it.

Lance's hands grip his wrists, though, gently tugging them away from his face. Keith looks anywhere but at Lance; he's ruined everything now, he's sure, and they'll never be actual friends—

Lance kisses his cheek.

Keith looks up in shock, and now Lance is the one who’s red-faced and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Um. I like you, too," Lance mumbles, miraculously.

Holy shit.

_Holy shit._

"...Cool," says Keith.

"Yeah."

The sun peeks above the horizon.

"We should go inside," says Keith.

"Yeah," says Lance.

Neither move.

"Can I—"

" _Yes_."

He leans in, and their lips meet. It's... kind of awkward, actually. Not the best angle, and Lance's nose feels like ice against his cheek, and there are no fireworks or angels singing or whatever. They'll have to work on that, Keith decides.

Heh, he's kissing Lance on a boat at sunrise.

A giggle erupts in his chest and he has to pull back to let it out. Lance's hands grip his arms, and he's giggling too, against each other's shoulders, breathless and still half asleep.

"Okay," says Lance. "Okay, cool."

"Cool," Keith repeats.

"That happened."

"Yeah."

"Cool."

A pause.

"We should really get inside."

"Yeah."

They finally, reluctantly, get up. Lance edges along the narrow ledge first, towel tucked under his arm, and Keith follows, clinging hard to his sleeve, just in case. They make it to the deck safely, though, and slip back inside.

There's no one up, which isn't really surprising but is a relief all the same. The lights are still on, though, so Keith turns them off at the door, and they quietly make their way down to the bedrooms in the dark. Lance kisses him briefly before he continues down the hall, and Keith has to take a moment to gather himself before he enters his room. Shiro is fast asleep; Keith climbs into bed carefully and just lies down on top of the covers. He's asleep in moments.

* * *

When Keith wakes up, it's to the stiff, hot, throbbing pain of the sunburn all across his back and arms, which apparently had given him a reprieve this morning but has now returned all the stronger. He groans and flops onto his stomach, but the heat doesn't dissipate and his chest isn't really any less sunburned. His face, too, ugh.

He reluctantly opens his eyes. Shiro's gone, which means it's probably time to get up anyway. He crawls out of bed and sheds his sweatshirt, which helps. And then he bends to put his dead phone on the charger and the friction of his shirt is too much, so he sheds that too.

The closet door mirror shows his entire torso is an angry red. Fantastic. Nantucket is gonna be a wash.

He heads up to the galley, where everyone else is already, and all eyes turn to him.

"Help," he says.

"Oh my god, you poor soul," says Matt, almost genuinely even though he's hiding a grin. Shiro grimaces. Lance just stares at his chest.

"Better stay away from Lance," Pidge snickers from the counter. "He's allergic to lobster."

"Pity. I guess he won't—" Shiro's hand clamps over Matt's mouth, and he gives him a look. Matt rolls his eyes but doesn't continue when Shiro removes his hand. Keith doesn't wanna know.

"Seriously, do you guys have lotion or something," he asks, looking between the Holts. "It feels like my skin is on fire."

"Looks it, too," Shiro says sympathetically.

"Yeah, we've got aloe in the medicine cabinet in the head," Matt says. "Yours, not ours."

"Thanks," Keith says, and stiffly heads back down to grab it.

He brings it back up to the galley to find Lance has shifted further into the booth and Shiro is setting a fresh mug of coffee on the table where he was. Keith slips onto the seat and takes a grateful sip.

"Thanks," he says.

"I'll get you a waffle, too," Shiro says.

So Keith starts rubbing the lotion into his arms. Lance isn't quite looking at him, and he's kind of starting to think maybe this morning was just a dream, or something—it couldn't have possibly _happened._ It couldn't have gone _that well._ But then Lance says, "Here," and takes the bottle of lotion and motions for him to turn, and when Keith does, he starts slathering the cooling lotion on his back.

Hopefully the sunburn will disguise his blush.

"Wow, guys, get a room," Pidge says dryly, which doesn't help.

"And get the sheets all greasy?" Lance retorts teasingly, and Keith freezes for a moment. Okay, wow, this morning definitely _wasn't_ a dream.

"Oooh," Matt says under his breath, and Shiro nudges him as he sets a plate of waffle in front of Keith and reclaims his seat.

"Leave them alone," he says primly. "Let them handle this at their own pace."

"We're _right here_ ," Keith says.

Shiro winks. Keith rolls his eyes, and behind him, Lance snorts.

But neither of them deny anything, and Keith is sure the rest notice.

* * *

"SHIT!" Lance hollers from elsewhere on the boat. Keith, Shiro, and Matt, on the bridge, look around—Pidge, on the bow tending to the anchor they're currently lifting, looks up.

They don't have to wait long to find out what's happening, fortunately, because Lance comes tearing up to the bridge seconds later.

"Keith!" he pants, hunched at the side of the navigation controls. "We didn't use our race!"

"Shit." Keith sits up. All that time on the beach together _wasted._

"Better hurry," Matt says with a grin. "We're almost away."

Keith and Lance meet eyes. Then Keith is scrambling to get out of the upper booth, standing and walking around behind Shiro and half-falling off the cushions. Lance catches him and they cling to each other as the boat rocks.

"What do we—" Keith begins.

"I don't _know,_ there's nothing—"

"We can't _go_ anywhere—"

"Something to _do_ —"

"There's nothing, we're leaving!"

In the moment's pause after Keith finishes his sentence, Shiro bursts into laughter. Matt's bent double over the wheel, shaking silently.

"What the hell's going on up there!?" Pidge shouts.

"Oh god. Oh god I know what you can do," Matt wheezes. "Play chicken."

Keith and Lance exchange a look.

"That's a terrible idea," says Lance, which saves Keith from having to ask what that _is,_ because he has a feeling it’s a different chicken than they played at the beach back on Block Island.

"I don't want to see that," Shiro says at almost the same time.

"Then I'd say, see how long you guys can stand to be in contact, but, well..." Matt nods to them, where they're still holding onto each other. Keith doesn't feel particularly inclined to let go, though, and Lance makes no move to either.

"Matt," says Lance. "Your ideas are terrible."

"I'm just trying to help." Matt shrugs innocently, but his grin is anything but.

"Can't we just save this race for later?" Keith asks.

"Mmnope."

"Shit."

"Ooh, I got something." Lance leans in close to whisper in his ear, making him shiver slightly. "Who can make these two uncomfortable the fastest? It'll be payback for making fun of us."

Keith leans back to fix Lance with a flat look. "That's too easy."

"Wanna bet?" Lance grins. Keith rolls his eyes and lets go of Lance, turning on the spot; Lance's arms still hover at his sides as the boat rocks.

"Hey, Shiro, Matt," Keith says blandly. "You guys banged yet?"

"Wh—hey!" Matt shouts, reddening. Shiro turns red too and splutters for a moment.

"That's inappropriate," he finally manages.

Keith looks over his shoulder at Lance. "I win," he says in the same bland tone. Lance is giggling, face all crinkled up and dusted with light freckles that he didn't notice in the dim light this morning. _Shit,_ Keith is so fucked.

"Oh man," Lance says finally, slipping his arms around Keith's waist from behind and resting his chin on his shoulder. "I can't even be mad. That was good."

"Just for that, I'm revoking your Nantucket race," says Matt.

"Pidge'll unrevoke it," says Keith, resting his hands atop Lance's.

"Pidge'll give us a bonus race for this," Lance corrects.

"Don't you dare tell her," Matt says urgently, straightening up behind the wheel.

"Tell me what?" Pidge asks as she emerges from the stairs. "I'm all ears."

"Don't do it!" Matt yelps. Shiro has his head in his hands. "You can have two races, just don't tell her!"

Keith meets Pidge's eyes. He mouths, "Later," and she nods.

"Alright, fine, whatever," she says. "Are you two gonna stand there the whole trip or what?"

"Nope." Lance lets go and nudges Keith towards the U-shaped bench. They take the long way around to avoid Shiro, who's still apparently recovering, and cram together into the corner. Pidge looks at them and just shakes her head slowly.

* * *

"Hey, Matt," Pidge calls back over her shoulder as the engines shudder off. "How's the tide?"

"Low," he calls back from the bridge. "Why?"

"We might have some technical difficulties." Pidge frowns at the dock. It looks fine to Keith; the dock here on Nantucket is about the same height right now as the side of the boat, so all they have to do is climb up the side stairs and hop off.

"How so?" Matt asks, and then he comes down and looks at the dock too. "Oh."

"What's the problem?" Shiro asks—thank god Keith isn't the only one.

"The tide's gonna rise, and we're gonna rise with it," says Pidge.

There's a moment's pause.

"It's not a floating dock. The dock is staying put," she adds. "We're gonna be a couple feet above it at high tide."

"Ohh," says Shiro.

"Is that gonna be a problem?" Keith asks. "Can't we still climb on?"

"I mean, yeah, probably," says Pidge. "It'll just be harder."

"We might be able to hop onto the swim platform, too," says Matt.

"The problem will more be getting _off_ ," Pidge continues, gesturing at the side of the boat.

"I think... if we sit on the side of the boat, and hold onto the ladder there..." Matt gestures.

Pidge tilts her head, considering. "Yeah, that might work. I guess we'll find out."

Keith still isn't quite sure he can visualize the problem, but he'll take their word for it. Tides are, presumably, something they know how to deal with.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Shiro asks.

Pidge shrugs. "Walking around? We're gonna go down to Great Point tomorrow so it's not like we gotta rush to the beach today."

"Nantucket's a nice place to sightsee, anyway," Matt says. "Like, it's worth seeing for its own sake. It'll be crowded, though."

Considering how many people Keith has already seen walk by the boat—and while they're stern-to on some kind of wharf, directly behind them is the back of a restaurant and some rickety-looking public restrooms—he doesn't doubt it. He shudders to think what the rest of the island will be like.

"Are we going exploring yet?" Lance finally emerges from the boat with a yawn. "Or do you guys still gotta do dock stuff?"

"Matt has to do dock stuff," says Pidge.

"Fuckin' rude," says Matt. "Fine, go have fun without me. I'll just languish here all by my lonesome."

"I'll stay with you," Shiro offers, and Lance and Keith exchange a look.

"No, I'm _not_ gonna third wheel these two," Pidge says.

"Hey, we're not that bad—"

"We can just wait." And with that, she sits herself down on the rear bench and crosses her arms.

"We could explore on our own," Lance says, resting his arm on Keith's shoulder. Pidge fixes him with a hard look.

"Then I'd be third wheeling _those_ two," she says pointedly.

"Now, wait a minute," says Matt. Shiro frowns deeply.

"See, they're still denying it," Pidge adds. "They'd be worse."

"Fair enough," says Lance. Keith shrugs the shoulder Lance isn't leaning on.

So they wait while Matt does the "dock stuff." And then, once it's done, they climb off the boat and start up the wharf.

The street, once they reach it, is crowded; the main street further down is even more so, even though they're walking on the side of the road next to the supermarket parking lot and not the side clearly lined with shops and other tourist traps. Keith looks up the hill and finds that even with the scant handful of cars and wider sidewalks ahead, it only gets worse. He groans quietly.

"Not a people person, huh?" says Lance, in a tone that says he already knows the answer is yes. He'd better, considering how long they've known each other—they met at freshman orientation, for fuck's sake.

"What gave it away?" Keith mutters.

"Hey, man, I've got an idea, okay? So, we form a human shield around you—"

"No—"

"Just hold his hand like we all know you want to," Matt teases.

"Fuck you, Matt," Lance says, affecting genuine hurt even as he does take Keith's hand. Keith, caught between a similar sentiment and outright laughing, snorts and tries to turn it into a cough.

"Smooth," mutters Pidge.

"Shh," says Keith.

"Just helping out," Matt continues cheerfully. Keith can't help but notice that Shiro is grinning at Matt specifically, not at the shenanigans behind them, like he's the only one there. It's _obvious._ He and Lance weren't that bad, right? He's _pretty_ sure he kept it subtle—until he went and admitted everything, sure, but before that there were none of these lingering grins and meaningful looks and dumb sappy shit.

He's pretty sure.

Maybe the hand-holding at Tarpaulin Cove counts, but _only_ that.

"Whose hand are _you_ gonna hold, Matt?" he asks pointedly, stepping on the back of Matt's shoe so that he stumbles into Shiro. Shiro catches him and his hold lingers as they continue moving. "Oops, sorry."

"I can kick you off the boat at _any time_ ," Matt hisses, face reddening as Lance snickers. Shiro shoots them a glare but it's worth it.

"Only three more days," Pidge mutters under her breath. "Three more days. Just three."

While Lance takes out his phone to hunt for Pokemon or whatever—without once letting go of Keith's hand—Keith looks around. The street they're walking along is cobblestone, which doesn't look like much fun to walk on, let alone drive on by the way the cars that pass them bump slowly up the hill. The sidewalk is uneven brick but still better. The buildings are sided with faded wooden shingles where they aren't also brick or stone, and once they get past the supermarket to where the sidewalk widens, there are trees spaced along the curb. It'd be charming if it weren't completely swarmed by people.

He sticks close to Lance and just tries not to touch any strangers. Lance squeezes his hand.

They duck into several shops as they go, with no particular destination in mind, more to gape at the prices than to actually buy anything. When the other three go to enter some antique shop, though, Lance pauses outside just long enough to steal a kiss and wink before tugging Keith into the shop after him. And just like that Keith is off-balance—not a good thing in an antique shop, _thanks Lance_ —and fighting a blush as they rejoin the others. They look cursorily around at the antiques and when Keith next manages to catch Lance's eye, Lance smirks.

So it wasn't just a kiss, it was a _challenge._ A secret race, maybe—to sneak kisses without the others noticing. Keith smirks back; he's so in.

He gets his chance to retaliate when they stop in a tiny bookstore, pulling Lance in for a kiss and stepping away a mere second before Pidge follows them around the corner. Lance hisses under his breath but doesn't get to respond until the next store, hidden behind a t-shirt rack. Keith follows up out on the sidewalk while Pidge, Matt, and Shiro are focused on Shiro's phone as he battles a Pokemon gym—distracting Lance from his own Pokemon battle which gets Keith a frustrated swat on the shoulder as he laughs.

Lance's next turn comes in another clothing shop, blocked from view by a rack of sunglasses, but this time Matt catches them in the act and they jump apart.

"I saw that!" Matt hisses delightedly. Lance stutters but Keith calmly turns to face him.

"No, you didn't," he says. "Just like I didn't hear you call Shiro hot."

"I never said it was Shiro!" Matt protests, grin dropping in an instant.

"Who else would it be?" Keith says pointedly. "Lance?"

Matt opens his mouth... and closes it, and nods and turns away.

"Holy shit," Lance whispers. "That was devious."

Keith just grins.

"I don't appreciate the implication that I'm not hot, though," Lance says, not quite unseriously.

"You are," Keith assures him, and Lance beams.

"Hell yeah I am, babe." He glances around—Shiro is standing nearby, so he settles for bumping shoulders. "Have I mentioned that you are, too? Because you are. Like, a lot."

Keith grins. "You have, actually," he says, which gets him swatted again.

By the time they loop back around to the boat to get ready for dinner—and yes, have some minor trouble climbing back on—Keith has completely lost track of who's winning. Not he feels like he could lose, particularly, not when his lips are tingling from the press of Lance's and more often than not they lean into each other in unison anyway.

And when Keith goes to change for dinner and Lance sneaks in after him through the bathroom and crowds him against the closet and pushes his tongue into his mouth—yeah. That feels like a win.

* * *

The next morning finds Keith's sunburn stinging only a little, which he figures is a good sign until Pidge reminds them today is a beach day. He groans and drops his forehead to the table.

"And that means Matt and Shiro have to go get a car," Pidge adds. "Rest in pieces, Keith."

"He'll be fine if he puts on sunscreen," Shiro calls, already sliding the door open. Keith hears Matt follow him out and laughter before it shuts again. He doesn't move.

"Don't give us that look," Lance says after a moment. " _We'll_ be good."

Pidge sighs. "How is it you acknowledge it but don't actually admit to anything?"

Keith looks up out of the corner of his eye to see Lance rest his chin in his hand and grin. "What would you like us to admit to, Pidge? Feel free to specify level of detail. I'm happy to share—"

"Stop!" she all but screeches. "Stop, oh my god, I don't want to know. Gross."

Lance only grins. "Why, what do you think we've done? Such a dirty mind, Pidgey."

She groans and Keith looks up in time to see her throw up her hands and head out on deck; she pauses closing the door behind her, though, to glare at them.

"Put your bathing suits on, and _don't_ get distracted," she says, and slides the door shut and disappears from view. Keith snorts and looks to Lance, who just winks.

Keith wonders, later, if Lance spending longer than strictly necessary rubbing sunscreen into his back counts as "getting distracted." From the flat look Pidge gives them when she returns with Shiro and Matt, she probably thinks so.

He makes a mental note to remind her that she was just as bad with Allura when she was in the country, next time she complains.

The ride to Great Point is longer than Keith expected, and with Pidge crammed in the middle seat again—of another convertible jeep, though one in rather better condition than the one on Block Island—he can't even watch Lance play Pokemon Go to pass the time. Instead, he rolls down the window and watches the island go by. First the town, then something like suburbs, then untamed greenery that the road cuts cleanly through, lined with well-populated bike paths.

They pull into a little lot with a little shack, where Matt goes to talk to someone as Pidge climbs out over Lance with little heed to where her elbows and knees go.

"Ow!" he yelps as she hops out. "What was that for? Are we here?"

"Nope," she calls as she heads around the car. "Gotta deflate the tires."

"Um," says Shiro, still in the driver's seat. "Why?"

"So we don't get stuck in the sand. We're gonna drive on the beach." She reaches in through the passenger side window and grabs a air pressure meter from the glove compartment. "Maybe hop out and let Matt drive, actually."

"Sounds like a plan." Shiro climbs out of the Jeep. "Need a hand?"

"Sure."

Lance lifts his knee onto the empty seat beside him and tucks his ankle under his other knee, lifting his phone above his head in the universal gesture of a lost signal. Keith leans over to find, naturally, a loading screen.

"You're probably not gonna get a signal on the beach," Keith points out.

"There was one at Tarpaulin Cove." Lance pouts. The progress bar doesn't budge.

"Barely."

"There won't be any Pokemon anyway!" Pidge shouts from beneath the window, and Lance lowers his phone sadly.

"You'll just have to pay attention to the rest of us," Keith says, patting his knee. Lance drops his head back against the seat and turns it slowly to look at him.

"You're cute, Keith, but listen. _Pokemon_."

"So that's where your priorities lie."

"Sorry babe, but I gotta catch 'em all."

Out of sight below the window, Shiro hums—then there's a thump and he makes a muffled squeak.

"Don't even bother," Pidge mutters.

"You heard—"

"Shh."

Keith snorts and Lance muffles a snicker with his hand. He unbuckles so he can turn and tuck his phone into the beach bag, and then he scoots into the middle to sit next to Keith.

"Alright, I'm paying attention to you," he says, draping himself over Keith's shoulder dramatically. "What's up?"

Keith winces. "You're leaning on my sunburn."

"Sorry!" Lance sits up quickly. "Sorry, sorry. Does it still really hurt?"

"Only when you dig your bony shoulder into it," Keith says. "...Or when it touches basically anything."

"You're wearing a shirt."

"It's okay if I don't move."

"Oh my god." Lance lifts a hand like he's going to touch Keith's shoulder but leaves it hovering instead. "Aren't you from like, Arizona? How did you let this happen?"

"You don't go outside in Arizona in the summer. You cower inside where there's air conditioning and spend as little time outside as possible."

"Okay, but did you never spend a day at the beach? _Are_ there beaches in Arizona?"

Keith fixes him with a look. "I went to public pools. You don't spend all day at a public pool."

Lance fake gags. "Gross, dude. That's gross. The ocean is a million times better."

"I agree, but desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Man." Lance leans his head back against the seat. "We gotta get you down to Florida. I mean, the beaches here are nice, but _Florida_."

"You haven't seen Great Point yet," Pidge interjects, climbing into Lance's vacated seat. "Keith, if you stay buckled for this you're the biggest nerd in the car, and that's saying something."

"What?" Shiro asks as he buckles in in the passenger seat.

"Shiro being a nerd goes without saying," she says, making Matt snort. "Once we get out of sight of the hotel down the way, we're standing."

"That sounds dangerous," Shiro says as they pull out of the lot. Keith unbuckles.

"We'll be going slow," Matt reassures. "But if you guys see any trucks with a logo on the side, sit down quick."

"They'll yell at us," Pidge adds. "Because they're nerds."

"Katie, you calling people nerds just sounds ridiculous."

"People who rope off sections of beaches so birds can nest there? Definitely nerds," she retorts. "I mean, it's not a bad thing. Save the birds and stuff. But, they're nerds."

"Wait, back up. Why are we standing on the seats, exactly?" Shiro interjects.

"You shouldn't, you're in front," Matt says. "If that makes you feel any better."

"It's fun," says Pidge. She's already half-crouched on her seat as the road beneath them goes from pavement to gravel to sand. There are a few houses ahead, perched on the dunes among the beach grass, but the road is one lane with wider sections here and there for passing. The way riding in the car here feels is different in a way Keith can't quite define—it bumps and rocks almost like the dinghy did, but it's not rough.

"I'm still missing some information, here," Shiro says, and Pidge sighs even as she stands. Keith is quick to follow, and Lance too, clinging to the bar across the top of the Jeep where the convertible ceiling rests when it's up, and each other. He can see more of the road ahead, just as winding and sandy as here, and a car approaching around the dunes.

"Car," Pidge says, and Matt stops in the next wide spot to let it pass. "Okay, so a few things; poison ivy is everywhere, and if you see a bird nest don't touch it or you'll get arrested or something. This whole place is a wildlife refuge."

"Okay..." Shiro says. Pidge drapes her arms over the bar.

"Look," she says, and when he turns, holds up her hand, thumb up and fingers out straight but overlapping to form more of a point. "Nantucket is shaped sort of like this; it's backwards for you but whatever. Point is, we're up here." She taps her thumb. "Great Point lighthouse is right at the northern tip; we probably can't drive up to the point on the beach, it's usually roped off, but we'll be able to get to the lighthouse. 'Cause after we get out of Wauwinet, it's all conservation land. Which means lots of beach and grass and stuff."

The car starts moving again and she has to shout to be heard.

"It also means the Trustees of Reservation patrol everywhere. This place is huge so we might not see any until we stop on the beach, but if they see us doing this they'll yell at us for being unsafe, even though it's fun and we're only going like 6 miles per hour anyway. End of story." She returns to clinging to the bar.

It _is_ fun, Keith has to admit. Sometimes the rocking knocks them into each other, and sometimes the grooves in the sand are like a series of speed bumps that make the car feel like it's bouncing down the road. He's got one arm tight around the bar and the other around Lance, keeping them as stable as possible.

Then they go over a particularly large bump and Lance and Pidge whoop in unison. Keith just grins.

They cross a narrow spit of land where the ocean is visible on both sides; then it widens out again, and soon after they pull onto the beach proper. The waves here are large (relatively speaking) and the beach spotted sparsely with cars; no one swimming, as far as Keith can see, just fishing from the shore.

"Watch out for seals!" Matt calls. "Where there are seals, there are sharks!"

"There _might_ be sharks," Pidge corrects as Lance squeaks.

They cross over to the other side of the point at another narrow spot, as wide as the boat is long, and from there it's not long until Matt wrenches the car out of the deep tracks in the sand and declares they've found the perfect place to stop. The nearest cars are so far off that the people around them are just little moving spots of color, and the cars beyond are just specks on the horizon.

It's a completely absurd amount of beach.

"Ow!" Lance suddenly yelps, jerking. Keith turns to look and finds him swatting at a fly.

"Oh, yeah, don't get bit," Matt says casually, climbing out of the car. "The flies love the black plastic 'cause it's warm."

Two more flies land next to Keith's arm on the bar. He decides it's time to get out of the car.

* * *

The waves on this side of the point are smaller but the ground drops off sharply a few feet into the water, so everyone lingers close to shore; Pidge's nose is barely out of the water if she stands past the drop off but it's barely waist deep for the rest of them before it, so chicken fighting is out of the question. Instead they chat as they float and swim around each other, just enjoying the water (and the protection from the flies).

And then they spot a seal a couple dozen yards down the shore and everyone scrambles back out of the water.

The seal leaves after a while and they never spot any sharks, but by then they've all settled on the beach. Shiro reads while Pidge and Matt casually bury his legs in sand; Keith watches them for a while before joining Lance in building a very structurally unsound sandcastle.

Eventually the flies (and being completely covered in sand) drive them all back into the water, and they run out of beer soon after. After that it's not long before they pack up and pile into the car again to head up to the point.

Great Point lighthouse doesn't have the usual markers of a tourist spot, no plaques or parking lots—they park at the edge of a circle in the road across from the porta-potties in the middle.

"Race you to the top of the lighthouse!" says Lance as he hops out of the Jeep. Keith, naturally, starts running.

"It's closed!" Pidge calls after them before they've gone more than a few steps, and both skid to a stop in the sand.

"Why?" Lance whines as he turns around.

"Dunno, it just is."

Keith elbows Lance. "Race you _to_ the lighthouse," he says as Lance yelps, and turns and starts running again. Lance shouts and gives chase but it's a fight to move uphill in sand at any speed, and they trudge more than sprint to the doorway.

"I win," Keith puffs, slapping a hand against the stone. Lance staggers into him and they collapse in the sand.

"Fuck you," he wheezes.

"Sunburn, sunburn," Keith wheezes back until Lance rolls off him. Keith sits up, skin stinging where it was against the sand.

"Oww," he moans.

"You're a disaster," Lance says affectionately, and gently brushes off some of the sand encrusting his arms and back. The other three trudge on by them into the lighthouse entryway.

"One race left," Matt says casually as he passes. Keith gets up and pulls Lance up too, and they enter the blessedly cool stone room.

"See?" Pidge says, pointing to the locked door of the lighthouse itself.

There's a plaque inside the room, and the others read it while Keith lays down on one of the stone benches. It's rough but cool and pleasant against his heated skin.

"Comfortable?" Shiro asks him.

"I live here now," Keith declares.

They take a few photos around the lighthouse singly and in groups—Keith leaves his bench only grudgingly—and a nice Texan couple that stops by is nice enough to take a picture of them all crammed into one of the small square windows.

Somehow Keith ends up with a camera roll full of pictures of Lance, smiling in the sun, but he's hardly complaining.

* * *

"There's wifi here!" Lance shouts as he slams the door open below, startling Keith from where he's been dozing in the cool night air on the bridge. "Actual working wifi!"

"Yeah?" Pidge calls down. She's already up here for the signal—Keith is for the temperature—but the rest are down below. He's pretty sure Matt has already gone to bed.

"But do you realize what this _means,_ Pidge?" Lance asks, coming up the stairs. He waves his phone. "Do you?!"

She sighs. "What does it mean, Lance?"

"It means we can finally for-real Skype Hunk!"

She sits up. "Oh shit, you're right. Get over here."

Keith sits up, too, letting Lance climb over him to drop down onto the bench between them. He holds out his phone in front of them on the table and, with Skype already open, starts a call.

In moments, Hunk's grinning face appears on the tiny screen.

"Hey guys!" he says, voice tinny from the phone speakers. "How's vacation?"

"Keith's a lobster," Lance says, turning the phone slightly so Keith's in view. He waves solemnly.

"Aw, dude. That sucks."

"I'll live." Keith shrugs.

"He's got lotion and Lance, he's fine," Pidge says flatly, and Hunk gasps.

"The plan _worked?_ "

"You were _in on it?_ " Keith asks in the same tone.

"It worked _too_ well," says Pidge.

" _What_ plan?" Lance demands.

"Oh, they were conspiring to make you guys be friends," Hunk says casually. "What do you mean, 'too well?'"

"We were already friends!"

"I'm like 95% sure they've made out."

"Only 95%? Ow, Keith!"

"Wow. _That_ kind of 'too well,' huh?"

"What are you guys yelling about?"

"Is that Shiro? Shiro, the plan worked?"

"Hey, Hunk—"

"Shiro was in on it too!?"

"Shiro knows. Shiro caught them holding hands at Tarp Cove."

"Hey!"

"I did, and Matt caught them kissing behind a rack of sunglasses yesterday."

Lance stands bolt upright—at least, as much as he can between bench and table—and points a finger at Shiro as he sits next to Pidge.

"Matt called you hot!" he hollers.

Pidge thumps her forehead against the table as Shiro freezes and steadily turns red. Hunk is laughing uproariously.

"So much for blackmail, I guess," says Keith.

* * *

"Keith," Lance says, and Keith hums. They're sitting on the bow—the cushions are covered by the now-inflated dinghy, so they're right at the very tip, legs dangling over the dark water. There are still lights ashore, lights around the marina, people and music even this late at night.

"I have an idea," Lance continues. "D'you think we can get Shiro and Matt to get together finally if me and Shiro switch rooms?"

That means he and Lance would be sharing a bed. Suddenly Keith is wide awake.

"They'd tease us relentlessly for it," he points out. "They'd say we're just trying to sleep together."

"No, see, that's what's brilliant about it," says Lance. "We say straight up we wanna sleep together and be totally shameless about it, they can't even tease us—and then they go to bed and realize, woops, they're sharing too."

"Dunno if I can pull off shameless," Keith yawns. He doesn't believe for a moment that this is Lance's only motive but he's not gonna complain.

"Babe, you have like, the world's best poker face. You can do it."

"Okay, if you say so." Keith leans forward against the railing again. "But Shiro's probably asleep by now. Matt definitely is."

"So we do it tomorrow. Two nights should be enough."

"Sure."

They fall quiet. Keith watches people trailing up and down the dock across the way, maybe on their way to their boats, maybe just looking. All the megayachts are down at the end of the docks at the outside edge of the marina and the light from them penetrates even this far in.

"We should probably turn in," Lance says finally. "You're gonna fall asleep at this rate, and then you'll fall in and it'll suck."

Keith snorts lightly. He'd thought the same of Lance back in Tarpaulin Cove, after all, and he's weirdly touched by it. He turns and pulls Lance into a kiss, deep and slow.

"Is that a 'no, I won't fall in?'" Lance whispers when they part, smirking.

"You're right that I'm falling asleep," Keith admits. "I won't fall in, though."

"You'd better not. I'd have to jump in after you."

"You wouldn't."

"I would." Lance kisses the tip of his nose. "Come on."

They trail back inside. Keith climbs into bed gratefully, ready to succumb to sleep, but Shiro shifts beside him.

"Keith?"

"Yeah. Go back to sleep, Shiro."

Shiro shifts again, though. "Wanted to talk to you," he says, and Keith reluctantly rolls over to face him.

"What about?"

"Lance."

Of course.

"What about Lance?"

"I just..." He sighs. "I tease, but you know I'm happy for you, right?"

Keith fails to resist the urge to roll his eyes, not that Shiro can probably see so in the dark. "Thanks?"

"I mean it. I'm really proud of you guys. I know you two were already friends, even if you had an odd way of showing it, but I'm glad you were able to work past your diff—"

Keith clamps a hand over his mouth. "I _get_ it, Shiro."

Shiro pulls his hand out of the way. "Just wanted to be sure."

Keith rolls his eyes again. "Now that that's settled, can I sleep?"

"Of course." Shiro shifts to lie on his back again, and then Keith remembers what Lance had suggested earlier.

"Actually, how do you feel about switching beds with him?" he asks.

Shiro turns his head, and it's dark but Keith could swear he's squinting at him.

"You'll be safe, right?" he says, and Keith huffs.

"We're not going to have _sex_ on the Holt's _boat,_ Shiro, oh my god. Everyone would hear. And we'd have to wash the sheets, and this bed is surrounded on three sides, not to mention this." He reaches up and taps the ceiling two feet above them. "The last thing I want to do is try to make this bed."

Shiro laughs quietly. "Fair enough. But..."

"Don't pretend like you don't want to."

"I... might. But Matt—"

"Is head over heels for you?"

Shiro is quiet.

"He is," Keith insists. "And you need to ask him out before this vacation is over."

Shiro sighs, like this would be an incredible hardship. "I'll do it, if you promise the same. You need to ask Lance out."

And Keith opens his mouth to say it doesn't matter, they'll hang out either way, they see each other all the time—and then shuts it. Because they graduated. Seeing each other all the time isn't a sure thing anymore—unless they make a point of it.

"Okay," he agrees. "You ask Matt out, I ask Lance out. Deal."

"Deal." They shake on it. "I suppose we can switch sleeping arrangements tomorrow. I doubt Matt's awake now."

"He might've woken up when Lance went in. Might be worth checking."

There's a pause, and then Shiro makes the sigh he always makes when he can't believe he's going along with their shenanigans and shuffles out of bed. Keith muffles a snicker.

And sure enough, a few minutes later, it's Lance who comes in, not Shiro.

"Matt was awake?" Keith guesses as Lance climbs into bed and only lightly bumps his head on the low ceiling.

"Yep," says Lance. "We did good." He sprawls in the space Shiro left, reaches out, brushes his fingers down Keith's arm until he finds his hand and takes it. "Nighty-night, Keith."

"Goodnight, Lance."

* * *

Keith wakes up unsurprised to find himself completely tangled with Lance. He doesn't bother to free himself yet, though he can hear movement above that means at least one person is already up. As far as he knows, they have no plans today, and his sunburn has healed enough that he's not uncomfortable just lying here for a while.

And, more importantly, Lance is here, asleep just inches away and stupidly attractive as always. He could really get used to this. He _wants_ to.

The question is, does _Lance_ want to? What if this is just a—summer fling? Temporary? After all, they could part ways after this vacation is over and just... never see each other again.

Well, asking is the way to sort this out, he supposes. But he's gonna put it off until the last minute, because he wants to enjoy this—whatever it is—while it lasts.

Just in case.

* * *

"Face it," Pidge says, as they pull into someone's sandy driveway. "We're lost."

"We're not lost!" Matt and Shiro insist in imperfect unison for the third time now, and she sighs. Keith and Lance exchange a look. This neighborhood looks a lot like the road to Great Point did, all sand and beach grass and low scrub surrounding faded grey-shingled houses. In other words, they could be just about anywhere on Nantucket and Keith wouldn't know the difference.

"We gotta be near Madaket by now," Matt insists as Shiro backs onto the road, now in the opposite direction.

"We just left Cisco."

"The island's not that big, Katie."

"And there are like, three roads? We have to go back into town to get out to Madaket."

"We do _not,_ I know there's a road along the coast."

"Well," Pidge says as they take a new turn and find another dead end, "this clearly isn't it."

"Does it matter?" Lance sighs, head half out the window on the other side of the car with Pidge, as usual, squished between them. "I thought we were just exploring, anyway."

"Oh, go play Pokemon or something," says Matt.

"My phone's almost dead."

"That's what you get for playing too much Pokemon. Right, Shiro?"

Shiro sighs. "Just tell me where we're going, Matt," he says as they turn around again.

"...Back the way we came," Matt responds sulkily.

Lance reaches behind Pidge to swat at Keith's shoulder while he points out the window.

"Keith, Keith, look," he says. "That house is named 'Le Shack.' Who names their house that?"

"This one is 'Flotsam,'" Pidge says idly as she turns to look too.

"Is the next one 'Jetsam?'" Keith asks, half-joking.

"Yes!" Lance laughs as he points. Well, shit.

"Yes," Matt mutters. "Keep looking at the houses and stop saying we're lost."

"Don't you have GPS?" Keith asks, and half the car groans.

"The signal's spotty at best," Pidge admits. "The marina's good, yeah, but out here?"

"Money can only do so much," Matt finishes grimly.

They find Madaket eventually, but it's hardly the highlight of the trip—just another stop on their island tour. More memorable, Keith thinks, is the massive staircase down the side of a cliff, hidden in the brush; standing at the entrance of a beach watching the waves crash while the few souls still out this late in the afternoon try to surf; Lance's hand in his by a lighthouse perched on the bluffs as they watch the sun set over the water.

They did hardly anything today but it might just be one of Keith's favorite parts of the whole trip. Tomorrow can't top this.

* * *

Their fourth and final day has a restless atmosphere. It might just be Keith, but he's pretty sure Shiro's feeling it too; they keep meeting eyes and raising eyebrows, asking a question to which the answer is always no.

Tomorrow, Keith has decided, he'll ask Lance out. He's pretty sure Shiro's decided the same for Matt. In the meantime, they still have one day left, which Matt reminds them all of over lunch with a sigh.

"And no Nantucket sleigh ride this year, as usual," he laments dramatically, and Pidge snorts.

"You'll need to travel back a century or two for that," she says.

And then Shiro asks the fateful question: "What's a Nantucket sleigh ride?"

The Holts meet eyes.

"I know what we're doing today," Matt breathes.

And so they all traipse into the Nantucket whaling museum.

They arrive in time for a short presentation about the history of whaling, which—well, Keith was perfectly happy to be free of lectures, thanks, but it's interesting enough. And hearing the presenter describe whaling boats being dragged for miles through the waves by the whales they'd harpooned, and then Pidge and Matt chirping "Nantucket sleigh ride!" in unison when she asks if anyone knows what that was called—it's amusing, if nothing else.

There isn't much to the museum. Collections of whaling tools and a whale skeleton hanging from the ceiling, half a massive oil press, a room full of scrimshaw; they wander through it at different paces. Pidge and Matt hardly look at anything since _apparently_ they're experts on whaling already. Shiro stops to read every goddamn plaque in the building. And Keith and Lance wander at more or less the same pace but out of sync, crossing paths here and there. It's quiet and the whole museum smells of old wood or oil or something, lending to the atmosphere.

Keith encounters Pidge on a little balcony overlooking the whale skeleton room.

"Have you had fun?" she asks quietly. "I mean like, ignoring Lance. Did you have fun you couldn't have had elsewhere?"

"Yeah," he says. "Thanks for doing this, Pidge."

She shrugs. "It's tradition for us. I'm just glad we got to share it with you guys."

"Still, thanks. It's been fun, really." He holds out an arm, and she rolls her eyes but leans into his half-hug anyway.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't be a stranger when this is over, yeah? Of everyone, you're most likely to ghost us."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promises. "Even if I wanted to, Shiro wouldn't let me."

She snorts. "Fair enough. I guess I'll be seeing a lot of him now." She rolls her eyes again and he grins.

"What, you're not happy for your brother?"

"I am, he's wanted this for ages, he's just gonna be insufferable for a while."

"Move in with Allura."

She grins at that. "Actually, she's coming back to the States soon."

Keith blinks in surprise. "No kidding? She's coming back?"

"Yep." She's clearly trying to play it cool, but Pidge has never had a good poker face; she's delighted.

He nudges her. "So you can join in the PDA now?"

"Oh, god." She groans. "Don't even. We weren't... okay, we were pretty bad. And we probably will be again when she's back. But we'll get _better,_ I _swear_."

He ruffles her hair. "At least you're aware of it."

She elbows him, hard, and he clutches his side in mostly-mock agony.

"Same to you," she says, though, and leaves the balcony. He decides it's time to go look for Lance.

He finds him on a lookout platform on the roof, grinning into the wind and sun. He's so beautiful in this moment that it nearly takes Keith's breath away.

So first, he takes his phone out and takes a picture. And then he decides he can't wait anymore.

"Hey," he says, stepping up next to Lance and looking out across the town. The harbor is close by, with all its wharves and docks and ships, and the breeze up here is strong enough to offset the heat of the sun.

"Hey," Lance says, slipping an arm around his back.

This is it. Keith just has to say it, and then he'll know, one way or another. Though after talking with Pidge, he's realized that the chances he won't see Lance again anyway are slim—but no, he has to ask. He's gotta do it. He just has to... say the words...

"Will you go out with me?"

Keith blinks dumbly at Lance, who now looks mildly horrified at himself.

"I was gonna say that," Keith whispers.

They blink at each other for a moment. Keith's brain processes but his heart gets the message first, nearly beating its way up out of his ribcage, taking flight. Oh god, this is really happening. It's real.

Lance giggles, half-nervous and half-delighted. "So that's a yes?" he squeaks.

"Yeah." Keith turns his back on the town for the better view next to him. "Yeah."

"Yessss," Lance hisses, and then kisses him, hard. Keith wraps his arms around Lance's waist and pulls him close in turn.

This is real. Lance is in his arms and he's here to _stay._

This is hands-down the best day of vacation.

Of course, when they finally part, Matt is there with phone up, clearly recording them in some form, and the moment he notices they've noticed he takes off back inside. Probably to use it for blackmail.

Or to embarrass them in front of everyone they know someday, if they decide to make this arrangement a little more permanent. Keith likes that idea.

"Alright," Lance says, miming rolling up his sleeves even though he's wearing a tank top. "It's on. You in?"

"I'm _all_ in," Keith says with a grin, and follows his new boyfriend down the stairs after Matt.

"This is your last race!" Matt shouts back at them as they give chase, like anyone's counting anymore.

* * *

"Well, folks," Matt announces, standing on the swim platform with Pidge. "It's been fun."

The rest of them are on the dock, bags at their feet, back at the mainland. The sun is hot and bright, and the waves rock the docks just slightly but none of them waver.

"Side effects of leaving the boat include cravings for fish or never wanting fish again, finding salt and sand in weird places, and feeling like your bed is rocking when you go to bed for the next few nights," says Pidge. "Enjoy."

"Are you sure you don't need help packing up or anything? Washing up?" Shiro asks. Keith looks at him, then looks at Lance. Lance nods.

"Why don't you stick around and help? We can go on ahead on our own," Keith says.

"We'll take Pidge in exchange," adds Lance.

"Deal!" Pidge says quickly before either Matt or Shiro can protest. "Let's go, let's go." She grabs her own bag and hops onto the dock, shooing them back toward solid ground.

"Aye-aye, captain," Lance says with a grin, and they leave Matt and Shiro behind despite their half-hearted protests. 

"D'you think they'll finally make a move?" Lance asks as they cross the parking lot.

"Those two? Unlikely," says Pidge.

"Shiro and I made a deal," says Keith. "He'll do it."

Lance and Pidge both snort, which is probably a fair reaction, but Keith isn't gonna let them know that. If they couldn't get their shit together while literally sharing a bed, it may be a lost cause.

It's not a long walk to the Holt family summer cottage, where they all parked their cars. They put away their bags and traipse inside to greet (and thank) the Holt parents and wait for the other two to show up, which turns into snacks and a drink, which turns into an impromptu cookout by the time Matt and Shiro do show up—bashfully holding hands, making the rest of them cheer drunkenly. No one's going anywhere tonight, it's clear, so they settle in and enjoy their last night together. They all fall asleep well into next morning crammed onto too few couches, blankets and pillows sprawled in a heap.

And when Keith wakes in the morning with a headache—painful, but hardly the worst he's had—and finds himself once again tangled with Lance, he doesn't really feel like vacation is ending. Or maybe that it is, but something new is here to take its place.

He's more than okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> i started writing this while on... one of the islands in here, dont remember which one. i do remember walking around the whaling museum trying to avoid s3 spoilers on tumblr ahaha. nantucket wifi is good but its not good enough for bingewatching...
> 
> anyway, hope yall enjoyed :') you can find me at [maternalcube](http://maternalcube.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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